


A Musketeers' Shine

by ComeHitherAshes



Series: A Musketeers' Seasonal Challenge [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/F, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Times, M/M, Meet-Cute, Multi, Paranormal, Power Dynamics, Switching, all the switching, and back again, from flustered to ferocious, prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-07 04:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 38,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4249467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeHitherAshes/pseuds/ComeHitherAshes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of 1500-word prompts for July, loosely based around summer and sunshine. Mostly pairings, some OT3, tags and triggers given at the beginning of each chapter.</p><p>Grab an ice cream cone and dip your toe in this month's pool of sunny prompts!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stolen My Breath Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SirLancelotTheBrave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirLancelotTheBrave/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 1 - _"I swear to God, I'm not a burglar."_
> 
> Prompt credit to: me!  
> # Summertime, and the livin' is easy. Prompts are comin', and the word-count is hiiiigh. A-thos is rich, and the boys are good-lookin'. So hush, little readers, don't you cry. <3
> 
>  **TAGS:** Porthathos, OT3, one was supposed to back down, but you know I don't write them like that, heyoo, power dynamics, I have first day jitters, the prompt list will go up up in a bit, I always miss this.

Porthos whistled as he clambered up the stairs, his jacket catching on the  _For Sale_ sign for the floor below.

Technically it was built as a house, but the landlord had split it into two flats – complete with some seriously shoddy stairs on the outside that Porthos couldn't wait to rip down.

As soon as he and Aramis had enough for a down payment, that was. They had been pining for the massive kitchen downstairs, and he had always wanted a garden.

He'd plant tiny flowers in it, and roses, just to make Aramis smile.

Porthos had already jimmied the lock so they had full run of the house whilst the property switched hands.

With the door shut against the world, Porthos skimmed some delivery pamphlets, knowing they would both be too tired to cook later.

"Garlic bread," he quoted incredulously under his breath as he wandered into the kitchen.

Someone cleared their throat.

Porthos wasn't ashamed to admit that he  _leaped_ backwards, leaflet crushed in his fist as he raised them towards the window where someone was standing.

Porthos squinted. "Who the fuck are you an' why are you in my house?"

"Not to split hairs but it's technically  _my_ house."

Porthos' eyes narrowed at the smooth voice and the smoother figure leaning on his counter. "You might wanna start by introducin' yourself."

They tilted their head to the side and it let a beam of the dying sun fall into the room, the pinkish glow giving softness to a face that was all stubborn jaw and scruffy angles. "Athos, I've just moved in downstairs – you left the connecting door unlocked."

Porthos' tension left him in a disappointed slump and he made a mental note to deadbolt that door.

"Says who?"

Athos' brows raised at the grumpiness of his question, but Porthos could still barely see him against the sunset. "I do, I'm the landlord."

Porthos scowled as his bag hit the floor. "You own the whole buildin'?"

"That is generally the hallmark of a landlord, yes."

 _Sarcy bastard_ , flit through Porthos' head, so in an act of rebellion he flicked the kitchen lights on, ruining Athos' dramatic stance but finally giving Porthos a chance to scope out their new neighbour.

He was annoyingly cute.

No, cute was wrong, he was too cold to be cute.

Narrowed eyes of a stormy blue slipped to Porthos' chest for just a moment before darting back up again, something reluctantly surprised gleaming there.

Okay, he was cute.

Maybe they could have that garden after all.

Porthos crossed his arms, tone lightening. "You're mighty talkative for a burglar."

The faintest colour streaked those pale cheeks. "I am not a burglar."

For someone so apparently proper and put together, he was fun to fluster.

Porthos gestured at the kitchen, watching the way those cool blue eyes followed his movements. "You're in my house."

"We've already established that it's  _mine—_ "

"—No we 'aven't. I've half a mind to call the police," Porthos said with forced seriousness, "strange man trespassin', might be dangerous."

"Please, even if I'd had the motivation, you moved far too quickly."

Athos flushed immediately, which turned what might have been a fact, into flirting.

Porthos couldn't help his chuckle. "What can I say, I'm a fast mover."

Athos struggled with that, as if he wanted to laugh but wouldn't let himself, so he raised an eyebrow. "Are you always this friendly with supposed burglars?"

"I dunno, not had one before."

Athos tilted his head to the side, that interesting little gleam disappearing when he asked seriously, "A safe neighbourhood then?"

Porthos wanted the gleam back, wanted to see how far down that enticing flush spread, so he leaned against the wall, tone considering. "Yeah, an' the yelps keep unwelcome sorts away."

Athos gave a disapproving frown, the picture of a tenacious landlord. "You have a dog?"

Porthos grinned lewdly. "Nope."

It took perhaps a second, maybe two, before that flush stole across Athos' cheeks again, but he refused to look away. "I trust you'll keep the noise down."

"I dunno, Aramis 'as always been a noisy little thing."

Athos' inhale of realisation was unfortunately covered by Porthos' phone going. Aramis' picture – one he'd taken himself in one of Porthos' t-shirts – lit up the screen as he answered it. "Hey, sweet… Nah, we'll get take-out, we 'ave a guest." Porthos looked up to meet curious eyes. "Very. Sure, see you in five."

Athos didn't even wait for him to put the phone down. "What did he ask?"

Porthos shrugged. "Couldn't tell you."

Athos frowned, but there was a challenge to the lift of his chin, the reveal of that proud neck. "I was thinking of paving over the garden."

Porthos growled, "Don't you fuckin' dare."

"Forgive me if I can't quite picture you... in the dirt."

Porthos couldn't hold his scowl and grinned. "On my knees?"

Athos hummed, the slightest curve to his lips, and Porthos decided he rather liked Athos in his kitchen.

"S'my favourite place to be."

There was about to be a smile, Porthos was sure of it, but then the front door opened. "You promised me cute, Porthos!"

"Cute?" Athos snarled.

"As a button," Porthos teased, and rocked back on his heels when Athos approached, tore the pizza leaflet from his hand, and thrust it at his chest.

"Order well."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll actually take something."

Porthos snorted, "What could I 'ave that you want?"

Aramis skidded into the kitchen, all rumpled curls and bright smile, and Porthos frowned at an Athos who said slyly, "Aramis,  _enchanté,_ Porthos has told me so much about you."

Porthos was left on his own as Aramis gave Athos the tour – his growled  _of the flat_ getting two satisfied smirks.

As he hooked his phone against his shoulder and ordered the food, he watched Aramis fall head over heels for the suave, French-speaking landlord, and wondered whether the garden was worth it.

The wink Athos gave him said yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end of our seasonal journey, remember to keep as cool as the boys would in this hot weather! (I am not advocating naked water-fights in the garden... Okay, I totally am, go wild.)
> 
> Your comments are like the keys to my locks, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	2. When Pushy Comes To Shove

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 - _Best friends who finally hook up/have a one night stand._
> 
> Sorry it's a bit late, I've been screaming at the tennis all day (Dustin! <3) and this prompt kinda threw me a little - which was annoying as I was the one that made it up.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Portamis, smart watches, guess who's becoming a right Apple fangirl, and how I hate myself for it, sorry Bill.

It wasn't unusual for Aramis to wake up in a bed he didn't recognise, what was unusual was waking up in one he  _did._

Sleep left him like the slow drag of waves on sand, trickling and cool, a warm breeze against his forehead and bands of heated sand around his waist.

Somewhere in the pained blur of his brain, he knew his watch was buzzing, which meant he had disappeared after a night of drinking and his friends were wondering where he had gone.

The room was still dark and the scant light from his watch face was blinding.

1 message from Constance:  _So, how did it go?_

Aramis frowned. That was unusual, normally he faced an affectionate chide the morning after.

That wasn't all, he had messages from d'Artagnan, even one from Athos, but none from…

Aramis twisted his wrist and let the light fall on the face above his.

It was a face Aramis could have mapped in his sleep, had written poetry and unsent love letters to, had dreamt about and thought about since they had met.

It was Porthos, and it shouldn't have been.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this, it was supposed to be, well,  _not Porthos_ , because Aramis had been half in love with him for years but they were best friends and he hadn't wanted to ruin that, had wanted to lose their easy hugs and movie nights, because why would Porthos feel the same way?

Except  _something_ had obviously happened, because they were both naked and Aramis really needed to get out of this bed before he started rutting against Porthos' leg.

It was probably wrong that one of his auto-replies was:  _what the fuck did I do?_

A part of him never wanted to leave Porthos' arms, but the fear that Porthos would wake up and push him away was overpowering.

Jeans in one hand, shirt in the other, Aramis let himself out of the flat he knew as well as his own.

Normally these walks were fun, he  _enjoyed_ them, enjoyed reading his texts and looking through his photos, finding little suck marks on his skin with his fingers, even strolling down the street in what was quite clearly last night's clothes.

This one, though, was definitely a walk of shame.

His head was down, hands in his pockets, he was cold, and he felt beard burn like a red traffic light on his face.

He needed coffee.

With one shaking hand around his cup, he almost spilled it when his watch buzzed and immediately twisted his wrist to see it.

1 message from Porthos:  _Where'd you go?_

Aramis groaned, his head tipping and his hangover not thanking him for it. It was starting, it would all come out now, how it was a mistake, that Porthos was sorry.

So was Aramis, but because he wanted to remember.

"Thought you'd be 'ere."

Aramis was suddenly more awake than caffeine could possibly make him, and he almost fell off his chair when he saw Porthos sat opposite him, jumper dragged over his clothes and face carefully neutral.

"What 'appened?"

Porthos was being  _normal_ , and in a way that was worse, because it showed it hadn't  _meant_ anything to him, and Aramis wasn't sure if his heart had even slowed down yet.

Aramis twisted his coffee cup restlessly. "I thought you wanted it to be a, um, one-night thing."

"When've I ever given you that impression?"

Aramis opened his mouth to argue but shut it again almost immediately, something fluttering in his stomach. "Wait, what are you saying?"

Porthos leaned forward, one leg pushing insistently against Aramis'. "I'm sayin' why the fuck 'ave you dragged me out of bed when we could've been havin' sex?"

Okay, this was so much better than the long, drawn-out romantic thing he had planned. Aramis stood and held out his hand for Porthos to take. "Let's go."

Porthos lazily swiped at him with a laugh. "Finish your coffee."

Aramis just pointedly looked at his hand again, wiggling his fingers. "No, I have a headache anyway."

Porthos looked up at him for a moment, grin widening, and then he stood to take Aramis' hand. "Figured you'd be just as pushy in bed."

Aramis hid his smile by dragging Porthos out the door, finding  _this_  walk much better. "Why are you wearing a jumper?"

Porthos looked down at himself in surprise. "Oh, thought you might be cold."

Aramis' stride slowed, reading meaning where there probably wasn't any. "Are you giving me it?"

"Yeah? You always want my jumpers."

"How did you know that?"

"Aramis, you bury your nose in 'em for, like, twenty minutes."

"I didn't know you'd  _seen_ ," he grumbled, cheeks going as red as his beard burn.

All of a sudden, he found his back pushed against the wall, and Porthos, gorgeous, smiling,  _wonderful_ Porthos, was raising an eyebrow at him.

"I've been watchin' you since we met."

Aramis wriggled in delight against Porthos' heavy weight. "Anyone would think you had a crush."

Porthos leaned forwards until Aramis was held in place by their noses touching. "I did."

There was no way Porthos didn't feel his heart skip a beat. "You did?"

Porthos sighed but he was smiling as he did it, and Aramis realised he would only have to tilt his chin to kiss him. "You still think this is a casual thing, don't you?"

Aramis pushed, his lips meeting Porthos' in a way that felt gloriously familiar, and he sighed needily. "No."

"Good, 'cause I ain't lettin' you go," Porthos murmured, and growled when Aramis pushed at his chest only to drag him down the street again.

Porthos' tongue nudged at his lip as he rubbed his thumb over it with a frown. "Why does my lip sting?"

Aramis gave him a sidewards glance. "You wouldn't stop kissing me."

"That's a bad thing?"

"I wanted to kiss somewhere else!"

This time, when Porthos licked at the sting, he was grinning, and so was Aramis. "Pushy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, here's the [prompt list](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/post/122962825783/2k15-july-writing-challenge) btw, I forgot to post it yesterday. As it's my birthday month, you should let me know if you're a July baby too and I'll see if I can do your preferred pairing on your birthday! <3
> 
> Your comments are like the jumpers to my chill, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	3. Fic: The Final Frontier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 - _Co-captains who always argue au._
> 
> I had so much fun writing this and working in as many space references as I possibly could (much to the chagrin of the people around me, who are tired of my incessant quoting of the first line).
> 
>  **TAGS:** OT3, spaaaaaace, pick out where the references are from for points, I think there's five titles.

"Star Command. Come in, Star Command."

"We read you, Starship Sterling, proceed as planned."

Athos let his head fall into the hand he had propped up on the chair's arm and spoke in the general direction of his helmsmen. "Remind me why the Admiral thought this would be a good idea?"

Constance didn't even turn around to say, "He's grooming you to be Fleet Captain."

Ninon snorted at her side, gaze tracking their movements through the stars. "Treville has absolutely no idea what he's doing, does he?"

Athos was forgotten as Constance raised an eyebrow. "I think he'd be good at it."

"Athos hates people, and besides, Treville thinks Athos doesn't know the other captains."

At that, they both looked over their shoulders and were completely uncowed by his glare. Constance' mouth threatened to curve. "You were supposed to fill out the paperwork months ago."

"There's paperwork?" Ninon asked, and when Constance nodded, spun idly in her chair. "Who has the time?"

"It's one sheet."

" _Per person._ "

"You're incorrigible."

"You love me."

Athos heaved a sigh and stood, wondering why he was constantly lumped with the most autonomous crew known to Starfleet. "Patch me through when we're near."

From somewhere unknown, Flea cackled, "Captain off the bridge!"

Athos ignored the mocking chorus of boatswain whistles and headed for his cabin, sitting heavily on a bed that felt too small all of a sudden.

"We've made contact with the Starship Phoenix."

Athos frowned up at the video link. "D'Artagnan, you're a yeoman, you're not on comms."

"No, I know, but Flea and Ninon are playing laser tag on the bridge and—"

It faded away for Athos, who was trying to massage his aching temples as best as he could until d'Artagnan's pleading voice faded in again.

"—thought that I could take command of engineering."

Athos shuddered at the triplicate signatures he'd have to get just for d'Artagnan to have full run of his engines. "We'll discuss it after the mission, d'Artagnan, I am about to invite the Phoenix on-board, the captain of which is notorious for being a mischievous bastard that gets into more trouble than he can get out of."

Flea's head popped into the video-link. "He's cute though."

Athos gave them his best unimpressed look until they switched the link, patching through to the bridge of the Phoenix and the back of the captain's chair. It slowly swung around, revealing a gorgeous man draped over the arms, powder-blue shirt pulled tight over his lean form, smile a smouldering thing. "Hello, Captain."

Athos sighed and resolutely didn't laugh. "Aramis, why are you in Porthos' seat?"

"I look better in the captain's hat."

"There is no captain's hat."

Aramis slid an old style navy officer's hat onto his curls and tipped it back to wink.

"Where did you get that."

"I found it on shore leave, isn't it perfect?" Aramis twisted to plant his feet on the floor, face excited. "Athos, you have to see the shop I bought it from, it's next to the Cantina on Mos Eisley!"

Athos tried his best to remain stoic, to be frustrated with this playful, vibrant man who could make him smile simply by existing. "Where they play that same song?"

"Yes, we'll get a Gargle Blaster and I'll put you in one of those old RAF uniforms."

"Athos 'as enough medals as it is. Hey, love." Porthos, all six-foot-something of yellow shirt and form-fitting black trousers, smiled at the camera, and it softened Athos' own, made him want to reach out and touch him.

Porthos shifted Aramis onto his lap, his mouth setting in a steady line. "You ready for this?"

Athos let out a tired hiss, wanting them near even as he didn't. "I still think it's a terrible idea."

"That's only 'cause you hate bein' undermined."

"It's  _my_  ship," Athos growled, and from the way Porthos shifted his weight, he knew that if he had been there, Athos would have had fingers squeezing the back of his neck.

"You gotta learn to share."

"It's all about the chain of command," Athos replied, hearing the captaincy in his tone when Aramis' eyes lidded.

"I'll show you the ruttin' chain of command," Porthos growled, and Athos showed his teeth in a smile.

"I have a surprise for you," Aramis mock-whispered at the camera, and Porthos frowned.

"How's that fair?"

"We've been drifting, Athos had to work, he deserves some fun," Aramis announced, and prodded Porthos in the chest. "If you're going to be grumpy then you can sleep in the med bay."

"What?! Why 'ave I gotta sleep in  _your_  bed?"

Athos smirked, already liking the idea of having Aramis to himself for a few days, a rare luxury to pore over in the captain's cabin. "Because it's  _my_ ship."

"I'm gonna get really tired of you sayin' that."

"You have to learn to share," Athos quoted, and felt the same thrill span his spine as if he was staring down a Bugblatter Beast when Porthos' eyes glinted dangerously.

"In case you can't tell," Aramis drawled, nose nudging at Porthos' jaw, "we missed you."

The gleam disappeared, slumbered, tamed, for now, and turned soft. "Yeah, we did."

Athos finally acknowledged the ache in his chest, the void that seemed so empty without lights glittering in its depths.

At a quiet trill from both of their comms, Athos couldn't help the delighted smile that crossed his face, and ducked his head when the two of them mirrored it.

If he ran, he blamed it on being anxious about the mission, and not because he had missed them so much that it hurt.

True to his word, d'Artagnan was already in engineering, hands poised over the control panel as Porthos' voice came over the comms.

"Beam us up, d'Art."

Athos waited for them to materialise on the transporter pad and relaxed only when they both crashed into him, Aramis' lips against his and Porthos' warm laughter in his ears.

The stars had aligned at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An AU I had never before thought of, astounding, hm? I hope you liked it! The ship names are hugely obscure references but appropriate, sterling silver for a polished pound of Athos, and phoenix for a pair of firebrands.
> 
> Your comments are like the lemons to my bricks, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	4. Game, Set, Match Made in Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 - _Wimbledon, strawberries and cream._
> 
> Prompt credit: [Scrabble](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrabble)! I hope it lived up to expectations, my dear <3  
> For the middle Saturday, I had to do Wimbledon (which I spent all day watching again), my one summer passion. It went a bit, er, off-piste, but the boys told the story themselves and I didn't have much of a say in the end.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Athos/Porthos, OT3, Athos being super cute, all the tennis references, but I've made it applicable, never fear, Happy ~~Treason~~ Independence Day across the pond, didn't help Isner though, did it? Jaykayyyyy, ily guys.

Porthos was glaring, and he was getting tired of people giving him wary looks for it.

It was bad enough that he'd been searched on the way in, then they'd checked his ticket –  _twice_  – and followed him around the merchandise store as if he was going to steal something.

Athos had breezed through.

Athos. Breezed.

It wasn't a word anyone would normally associate with him, but in the All-England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club, Athos looked like everyone else.

He even had one of those stupid little pins just above his dark green pocket square.

Porthos was in jeans, and they weren't even his best ones.

If someone else looked at him as if he was about to mug his posh-looking boyfriend then shit was going down.

They were in the queue for Wimbledon's famous strawberries and cream – under strict instructions for extra cream – when Porthos once again found himself to be the only broad-shouldered guy in a twenty-foot radius.

Still, it gave them a clear path to the fruit, and when Athos stepped forward to pay, Porthos stayed back to make some space.

And so he could let his eyes slide down Athos' back, see the untucked bit of shirt where Porthos kept touching him, and just generally think about what reward he was going to ask for after putting up with this today.

Athos was in a  _suit_ , one that Porthos had flicked the buttons on only last month, the expensive material soft as he slowly dragged it down demanding pale skin. It was second nature by now to want him out of it.

He was only human, after all.

A human who was really fucking tired of being stared at.

If it had been a copper, he might have snarled, asked for his favourite one of Athos' haughty sneers, but it was a woman in a fancy dress who looked at Porthos as if he was the shit on her expensive strappy shoe.

Bitch.

There wasn't anything he could do, so he stood there uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at the woman or Athos, wishing Aramis were here because Aramis would set her straight, loud and vocally and not giving a shit—

Athos slid in front of him and pulled at his shirt, their lips meeting so abruptly that Porthos made a surprised noise, one that deepened when Athos sucked at his lip and held him there.

On instinct, Porthos' fingers settled at Athos' waist, thumb sliding across his hip bone, wanting to ruffle him, to pull his shirt loose and ruin him a little, his temper sliding into want so fast that Athos let him go to give a huff of a laugh.

A gasp of indignation made them smile, and the click of departing heels pulled them apart, Porthos nudging Athos with his nose to get another kiss, a softer one this time, full of gratitude.

Athos had just kissed him in full view of everyone, and all because he had been getting stressed.

Porthos grinned, happiness making him giddy, and Athos smirked, the most intoxicating glitter in his blue eyes. "That's better, I had almost started to miss it. Shall we find Aramis?"

Porthos pulled open the door and gestured Athos through into the sunshine. "After you."

"Such a gentleman," Athos murmured, his smile widening, and when Porthos playfully tried to take the cups of strawberries off of him, even caught his outstretched hand.

Porthos squeezed the cooler fingers with his warm ones automatically, but he still gave Athos a stunned look as they walked the terrace. "You're in a good mood."

"You didn't have to come today, I appreciate it." Athos shrugged, but before Porthos could think that the world was ending, gave him a sly smile. "Besides, you've been a good boy."

Porthos caught his tongue in his teeth and laughed under his breath, "You're so gettin' it later."

Happy and holding hands, they weren't given anything more than the usual few looks, most of which were far too polite to stare anyway. Even so, Athos didn't let go, and Porthos was content to be towed around and steal strawberries from their cups.

They couldn't have come this far without Athos' badge, but Aramis had never needed a backstage pass to get anywhere he wanted to go, and where else would a frisky glory hound like to go than the practice courts?

Athos' eyes narrowed, like the ground's falcon that kept the pigeons away. "Aramis is hard at work, I see."

In a pale grey waistcoat with a purple flash at his pocket, Aramis was leaning against a court's net with no less than four people completely lost to his charm. They jockeyed for his attention, for the lidded looks he gifted, for the sweetness of his laugh and the kittenish curve of his mouth.

They all sagged when Aramis saw them over their shoulders and immediately skipped over, curls bouncing in a midday sun so hot that it made everyone look damp – everyone, that was, except Aramis, who could make sweat look good even if it wasn't as if he stood in a tailored breeze every minute of the day.

Just before he reached them, Aramis called out something flirtatious in Spanish to a man who waved one muscled arm.

Athos had raised an eyebrow, so Porthos asked with a laugh, "Had fun?"

Aramis' smile was predatory as he settled under Porthos' arm, one hand linking with Athos'. "Much, thank you. Some very lovely men were willing to show me the ropes and help me, er, swing."

When Porthos kissed his forehead and snorted, Aramis sighed happily, winking at a shyly smiling man with initials sewn onto his shirtsleeves. "I love Wimbledon."

"Don't we all," Athos drawled, and brushed a kiss over Aramis' knuckles. "Now, would it be possible to watch some tennis today?"

Aramis hummed, swiping his finger in the cream to make Athos suck it off. "Of course, why else are we here?"

Porthos' laugh was husky, "Absolutely no idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have no idea how much joy it gave me to choose who Aramis had been flirting with, ehehe. I suppose I owe some actual strawberries and cream smut now, don't I? Perhaps I'll work it into one of the others...?
> 
> Your comments are like the clapping chorus to my challenges, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	5. Wax On, Wax Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5 - _"Holy shit, I'm in the wrong car" AU._
> 
> A wizard posts exactly when she means to, and is definitely not desperately cutting words out and clicking frantically on reload buttons mere minutes before the deadline, no no no!
> 
>  **TAGS:** Portamis, because some prompts are just made for these two, sickeningly sweet and with enough flirtatious embarrassment to fill a car park, I'd be interested to do the exact same prompt but with Porthos/Athos instead, it would be totally different.

"I can do it, Aramis, it's  _so_ easy," Aramis quoted, derision heavy in his sing-song tone. "You don't need to go to a professional. It's just like painting –  _it is not like fucking painting!"_

"I didn't think it was going to be hot!" D'Artagnan cried, hovering with a wet flannel and an aggrieved expression.

"It's  _wax_ , d'Artagnan, what did you think it was going to be?" Aramis retorted, dabbing ineffectually at the screaming redness of his forehead. " _Gracias_ _a Dios,_ I look like I've been out in the sun for a week."

"Just wear your hair forwards, no one will notice."

Aramis turned with comic slowness, letting the flannel flop into the sink as he stared at a d'Artagnan who was wisely backing away.

But evidently needed to offer one more pearl of wisdom.

"Or a hat?"

Aramis shrieked and threw the flannel at him, taking some sort of satisfaction at hearing it smack wetly against his stupid head.

Some of the wax had gotten into his eyes and was really starting to hurt, and teasing his curls forwards really didn't help. "I have to go home, I can't go out like this."

"Can't go out like— What's wrong with your face?"

"Constance, your stupid boyfriend has permanently disfigured me!"

Constance blinked at him, her gaze locked on the very visible patches of red peeking through his hair. "You could wear a hat."

"I'm leaving!"

As he stormed out of the flat, he heard d'Artagnan yell, "Pull the visor down so you don't shine in everyone's face!"

Aramis slammed the door.

He kept his head down until he was in the car park, desperately winding through the cars as he blinked wax out of his eyes.

This was the last time he listened to d'Artagnan's claims of anything ever again.

A flash of black caught his attention and he yanked the car door open, huddling in the driver's seat practically in tears. It wasn't the pain, it wasn't even the humiliation, he was just tired, and sore, and wanted a hug.

He flinched when someone knocked on the window.

Trying to dash away his tears without looking up, he wound it down with a snappy little, "What?"

"There a reason you're in my car?"

Aramis scoffed, readying his most vitriolic put-down with a toss of his head, and caught sight of the broad, muscled arms that were braced in the window frame.

And the grey door handles, where they should have been cream.

This wasn't his car.

Aramis groaned, and the handsome stranger took the time to chuckle and say, "I'm not complainin', can drive me 'ome too, if you want. I'll have to draw it there though, my roommate's a possessive bugger— Uh… You okay?"

Aramis had let his head smack against the steering wheel, and his burning forehead had caused him to whimper out loud.

"No," he mumbled, and relaxed when the person walked away, probably out of awkwardness, and a little part of Aramis was disappointed in that.

Someone got in on the passenger side.

They were warm, and large, and had the same voice that a fire would have, a soft roar and the crackles of burning firewood. "Hey, look, my name's Porthos. I'm sorry, didn't mean to make you cry."

"I'm not crying," he sniffled, and refused to lift his head, little sobs starting to shake him. "Okay, I am, but it's not because of you."

A tentative hand brushed Aramis' shoulder, and when he leaned into it, into the sympathy and warmth and  _comfort_ , Porthos started rubbed soothing circles between his shoulder blades.

"D'you want me to give someone a good talkin' to?"

Aramis' laugh was watery, "No."

"Y'sure? I can do a good growl." Amusement laced Porthos' voice, and Aramis let his despair go with a huge sigh.

"It's my own fault, I trusted my friend to wax my eyebrows."

The hand stopped, voice incredulous. "You're cryin' over your eyebrows?"

"They were very good!"

Porthos gave a badly stifled laugh but at least he started stroking Aramis' back again. "I'm sure s'not that bad."

Aramis gingerly rose up, pulling the visor down to look in the mirror. "I look like a tomato."

Porthos leaned forward – and of  _course_ he had to be as attractive as those arms were. So now Aramis had broken into someone's car and then cried at him; he was so fucking unhappy that he just wanted to crawl into someone's lap and sleep for a thousand years.

But Marsac was long gone and it wasn't like he was going to pull looking like this.

"Nah, 'course not," Porthos said kindly, and God damn it all if his growing smile wasn't outrageously handsome. "A raspberry, fluffy an' sweet."

"You're funny," Aramis muttered sullenly, finger trailing the curve of the wheel even as he pouted.

"Aw, c'mon, I'm only playin'. You're still gorgeous."

Aramis' cheeks went as red as his forehead, and he wondered why the world was so unfair that he bumped into Porthos today of all days. "Look, I'll just go…"

"What, why?"

Aramis ran his hands over the wheel and sighed, "I'm hoping if I leave now you might forget what I look like so we can do this properly next week."

"How could I forget someone like you, eh?" Porthos tilted his head, looking entirely too adorable even with that roguish smile. "I don't wanna wait, let's 'ave a drink now, come to mine."

Aramis' laugh was only a bit reluctant. "I thought your roommate was possessive?"

"Yeah, he is, but he's gotten used to the strays I bring 'ome – 'course, most of 'em are cuddly little cats."

"I can be cuddly," Aramis offered hopefully, nibbling his lip, and Porthos gave him that grin again, the one that made Aramis want to smile.

"If you're lucky, 'e might even let you sit in his lap."

That hand slipped from his shoulder to nudge at his chin, and Aramis ducked his head and smiled. "Okay, Porthos, I'm Aramis."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so difficult putting the introductions in sometimes, a part of me is just like, "nah, don't bother, the readers get it, it's a waste of like twenty words with every exchange of names," but then another part of me is like **realism, Chelsea, realism.**
> 
> Your comments are like the little waves to my bus drivers, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	6. A More Personal Delivery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 6 - _“My neighbour keeps ordering weird shit but they don’t want to face the mail-person’s judgement so they keep using my address instead.”_
> 
> Now that I've read this prompt again, idk if it was meant to come out this way... It was a difficult one!
> 
>  **TAGS:** Porthathos, Athamis, you've got mail! Some seriously heavy flirting, all under the guise of nonchalance.

It was the fifth time that the attractive postman had knocked on Athos' door with a ridiculous grin on his face.

It suited him alarmingly well, that grin, and it made what were typically dreadful mornings – as all mornings were – into something a little brighter.

Athos sighed and wordlessly signed the electronic pad, glancing up under his eyebrows to murmur, "You're inordinately happy for a postman, you know. Are you catching glimpses of people in their underwear?"

Laughing eyes the colour of fresh soil dropped downwards for a moment, that grin widening. "I wish."

Athos gave him an unimpressed look, it didn't deter him in the slightest.

Porthos, Athos had learned in the scant two months they had been meeting like this, was one of those detestably  _friendly_ people. Living up to the motto, come rain or shine, Porthos would show up at his door with a chipper  _good morning_ , and Athos' politeness ensured he replied in kind.

Porthos had taken it as a sign of friendliness, and Athos – for some reason – had never corrected him.

They exchanged items, Athos not bothering to glance at the labels anymore, instead trying – as he always did – to see what the silver pendant around Porthos' neck was. "It's unlike you not to share a joke."

"An' I'm usually so generous, Athos."

As Porthos went about logging the delivery, Athos raised a brow. "Are you allowed to call people by their first names?"

"You gonna tell me off, Mister la Fère?"

Athos had to use every trick he knew so as not to smile, not to encourage the mischief that seemed to hop around Porthos' very being like bouncing bunnies.

So as not to bite at Porthos' neck and see if he'd finally stop smiling.

"Not this time."

Porthos made a disappointed noise that lowered his voice. "Shame, I'd've liked to see you try."

Athos' eyes narrowed even as he smirked, and he wondered if biting Porthos would just make him smile more. "I wouldn't want to hold you up when you have work to do."

Porthos had finished his work, but he didn't leave, he stayed leaning against the wall and looked Athos up and down. "Keep me busy for a while, would you?"

"Complaints paperwork takes a long time."

Porthos weighed his head to the side, pulling air through his teeth in a supposedly reluctant hiss. "I'm a bit of a rule-breaker."

"What a coincidence, because I'm an enforcer," Athos murmured, and held Porthos' gaze until his tongue appeared between his teeth in a challenging smile.

"Maybe I'll pop 'round on a Sunday," Porthos offered.

"Maybe I'll be home," Athos replied, flashing his teeth when Porthos chuckled.

"See you tomorrow,  _Athos_." Porthos winked, and just as he was about to disappear down the stairs, twisted around to say, "Oh, 'ave fun."

Athos shut the door slowly, a frown spreading across his brow as he tried to work out what Porthos had meant by that parting remark. It was a departure from their usual goodbyes, Porthos pushing his luck and Athos trying not to enjoy it.

Athos had never liked mornings until Porthos had started appearing in them.

Still, have fun with what?

It took far too long for his attention to focus on the bright pink parcel.

_sex-kitten &co._

Athos' door smacked against the wall when he opened it to run upstairs and rap his knuckles on the flat above. "Aramis! Aramis, I know you're home, you always take Manic Monday off."

Aramis answered with a scowl, a glass of Pimms in one tanned hand, the other reaching out for Athos' as if to drag him inside. "The second set's about to start, come."

Athos jerked the box in front of him, and noted the way Aramis' cheeks coloured. "When you said you wanted to order things to my address I assumed it was because you knew I would be home, not because you're ordering sex toys."

"Athos!" Aramis whispered hotly, glancing around the hallway and snatching the box from him, as if he were trying to take a prohibited item across the border. "You never check the labels!"

Athos was starting to see the funny side now, if only because Aramis was rather adorable when embarrassed, and he so rarely was. "No, Porthos did."

If Aramis' eyes could have gotten any wider, they managed it. "The cute postman?! Did you tell him it was me?"

"No, but he wasn't entirely against the idea of them being for me," Athos mused, surprised amusement in his tone, and Aramis' smile grew sly.

"You've been flirting with him, naughty boy."

"Aramis, I see him more than I see you, lately," Athos defended lightly, and caught Aramis' hand when it would have tapped him on the cheek. "What are you going to do when we move in together, hm?"

Aramis nibbled his lip to hide his smile, saying cheekily, "You'll just have to answer the door."

"Forever?"

Aramis sipped on his drink. "Until he asks you out."

Athos was stunned into silence and Aramis took the opportunity to pull him inside. "What makes you think he would?" Athos was ignored, which prompted him to say suspiciously, "Why is he the one asking  _me_ out?"

At that, Aramis winked at him, a quick, warm kiss and a whisper against his lips, "It's not just the chase that's fun,  _mon cher_ , sometimes it's being chased."

Athos frowned even as his other hand pushed into Aramis' curls, enjoying the little nip it earned him. "But I do the chasing."

"Not this time. Enjoy it, playing hard to get with you was glorious," Aramis teased, and pulled away when Athos would have growled, would have held him close and had him arching, would have  _chased_.

So he did.

Athos caught Aramis at the sofa, bearing him down as he asked with a sudden, overwhelming curiosity, "What did you buy,  _mon chaton_?"

Porthos asked the same thing that Sunday, with a bouquet of flowers that he made Athos sign for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts are still available to be claimed by any of you July birthday babies, just let me know here or on Tumblr!
> 
> Your comments are like the parcels to my post, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	7. Between a Glacier and a Warm Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7 - _“i accidentally took the seat that was between a couple because they were fighting and now i have to deal with them fuck” au"_
> 
> A few days of earlier posts because tomorrow's my birthday and I'm a busy bee! However, if you'd like some extra fic, I have a [vote](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/post/123388915268/birthday-fic-from-me-to-you) up to choose which Musketeers AU to finish - deadline's midday tomorrow!
> 
>  **TAGS:** Athamis, Portamis, I've translated a phrase so idk if it works, 'a bit rich, don't you think,' angst, it just came out of nowhere, and I'm just sat here like oh GOD WHAT HAVE I DONE.

Porthos was exhausted and all he wanted was a nice, cold drink where he could relax and maybe chat someone up – for the companionship more than anything else, it had been a long day.

Why didn't they do call-outs for hugs?

The bar area was already filling up for the evening, but he snagged a stool between two guys who looked as pissed off as he felt. One immediately stiffened, looking at him as if he had just committed a cardinal sin or something.

"Alright?"

A pair of cutting, blue eyes narrowed at his gesture of friendliness and slipped past him. Porthos followed it almost hesitantly, wary of being stabbed in the kidneys, and turned to see a smile so flirtatious he thought he might fall off of his chair.

"Hello."

It was a purr of welcome from eyes the colour of toffee, half-lidded and inviting, and Porthos found himself lost for words when they ordered him a glass of whiskey and the other guy muttered something under his breath.

What the fuck was going on here?

Those sticky-sweet eyes blinked at him. "Come here often?"

Porthos gave a surprised laugh, "Er, no, I just moved 'ere actually."

A gasp, and then a slender hand fell on his bicep. "You're new? You're going to need a tour then, surely?"

Porthos knew the area like the back of his hand, he'd just moved  _back_ after a few years away, but he wasn't about turn down those warm fingers and that warmer smile. "Yeah, that'd be great."

" _Un peu fort, n'est-ce pas?_ "

If any part of Porthos had been curious by that velvety voice that shaped those strange words so lusciously, it was dashed by the scowl past his shoulder.

"Is 'e botherin' you?"

A slight hesitation, and then a firm, "Yes."

The velvet voice grew weary, " _Aramis_."

Porthos turned between them, feeling a crick in his neck start to flare up. "Wait, you know each other?"

Aramis propped a hand on his hip indignantly. "Does it matter?"

"I s'pose not." With that, Porthos turned, that slender hand on his arm getting a lot of attention from those blue eyes. "I think you should go."

"No."

Most people turned tail and fled when he growled, but this one didn't even seem fazed, a cold sort of anger burning in his expression, one that made him startlingly attractive.

A part of him was impressed.

Aramis' fingers slid more solidly around his arm until he was practically leaning on him to say, "Go away, Athos, I'm  _busy_."

For a split second, the cold fire guttered and blue eyes widened as if he had been slapped, and then it was gone, whisked away by an unseen wind, and in its place was something… empty.

"Fine, if my presence offends you so much tonight, d'Artagnan's meeting Constance down the road anyway." Athos put some cash on the counter, far more than what was needed to pay for their drinks, and stared straight at Aramis as he said quietly, "I hope you enjoy your evening,  _mon coeur_."

When Athos left, Porthos looked back with wide, bewildered eyes to see Aramis' lip quivering, those sticky-sweet eyes awash in tears.

Porthos' voice softened, his head reeling but his hand lifting to cover the one still on his arm. "What's wrong?"

"I think I did something stupid," was the whimpered reply as he stared at the door Athos had left through.

"Friends argue, s'not a big deal—"

"Athos isn't my friend."

"You say that now but it'll be okay—"

"No." Aramis shook his head, curls tumbling violently. "He's my boyfriend."

Porthos' mouth dropped, and the only thing he could think was,  _fuck, what've I done?_

"I don't get it."

"I wanted to go out and he didn't."

Porthos frowned in concern. "He didn't let you go?"

Aramis' aggrieved eyes shot to his and he nibbled his lip nervously. "No, he said I should go, that he would wait up for me… I called him boring."

Porthos made a pained noise on Athos' behalf. "You dragged the poor guy out an' then flirted with me? That's pretty low."

"Normally we aren't arguing when it happens," Aramis muttered, and when Porthos raised an eyebrow, fell against his chest and cried, "What have I done?"

Porthos heaved a sigh, restraining himself from petting those pretty curls and thinking about what terror those two could get up to when they got on. "Nothin' that can't be fixed, go find 'im, apologise." Porthos remembered the reluctance in that soft voice and added reverently, "I think 'e'll forgive you."

Aramis sniffled but nodded, brushing one tear-stained kiss against Porthos' cheek before disappearing with a quiet, "Thanks."

Porthos found himself at that bar a week later, and he couldn't help himself from thinking about the two who had sat either side of him, one a frigid fury and the other a warm welcome.

He wondered, as he often had these past few nights, what it would be like between them, between Aramis' sweetness and Athos' fire, whether they would play nice in bed, whether they would team up against him or Athos would snap those tantalising teeth when Porthos tried his luck.

He wondered whether they had made up, whether they wondered about him.

Porthos blinked when he saw Athos at his right, all the coiled beauty of him and a smile playing about his lips. Athos' arm was reaching for something past Porthos' back, and he realised what it was when a warm weight settled against his shoulder and finished his drink.

"You're done," Aramis murmured against his ear, laughter in his eyes and temptation in his voice.

When Porthos couldn't hold back his grin, feeling inordinately happy that they were together again, Athos' smirk grew. "We wanted to apologise for ruining your evening."

Athos tugged on Aramis' wrist until he flowed onto his lap, blue eyes closing briefly when Aramis kissed his jaw and winked when Porthos didn't look away. "We'll make this one better."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to fix it, I couldn't leave it like that - could you imagine if I'd left it at Athos leaving and Aramis going home with Porthos? My heart hurts just thinking about it.
> 
> Your comments are like the beer mats to my drinks, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	8. All That Is Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 8 - _Runaway royalty and confused commoner._
> 
> Written for myself and [ScoutLover](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ScoutLover/pseuds/ScoutLover), who I think might also be a birthday baby today!
> 
>  **TAGS:** OT3 and all in between, my absolute favourite prompt, Aramis is fanboying over those two, forgive me some creative licence.

"For someone who hates ostentation, your clothes are of very good quality," Aramis murmured, fingers sliding along Porthos' warm arm to feel the thick, smooth quality of the fabric.

Porthos caught his wrist in one slightly roughened hand and pulled him close with a grin, uncaring of the ruckus in the dim tavern. "You more interested in the clothes or what's underneath 'em?"

Aramis played the fool with a coquettish smile, happy to be pressed against strong, broad chest. "Next you'll be telling me your collar is silk lace and your thread pure gold!"

Strangely enough, Porthos' exuberance dimmed a little, and Aramis wondered what he had said. It had been a week since Porthos had flirted with him in this very pub, a week of Aramis insisting he move in when he found out he had been sleeping rough, a week of wondering how he was going to explain it to Athos.

Aramis squeezed Porthos' hand, not pushing him for an answer. "I'll get us another round, hm?"

Porthos didn't let him go straight away, pulling him back for a discreet, grateful kiss that had Aramis smiling like an idiot. "S'fine, I'll get 'em."

Aramis tutted, dragging a fingertip between the silver chain that hung from Porthos' neck. "It's my treat."

"Everythin' you are is a treat."

Aramis snorted, licking at Porthos' grin. "Charmer."

Porthos' chuckle followed him as he slipped off, his fingers fiddling with the little golden ring around his little finger, the one he had promised to wear. As if it had summoned some powerful force, he was suddenly pulled into the shadows by deft hands that settled comfortably at his waist. "Good evening."

Aramis pushed forward, smiling into a pale, proud neck. "It's a pleasure, monsieur Comte." At a warning nip against his ear, Aramis snickered. "Athos."

Athos' thumb gently pinched his lower lip, making Aramis shiver. "That's better. I have a gift for you."

Aramis hummed happily. "Is it that you have nowhere to be for a week?"

Athos' smile was predatory and hinted of all sorts of interesting things. "Why, yes, it is."

"Those are my favourite gifts," Aramis murmured, curling his arms around Athos' neck to ask for another kiss.

The second their lips touched, Athos paused, asking curiously, "Who are you with?"

Aramis hesitated, but swiftly weakening against the fingers that curled insistently against his scalp, made a decision. "Come meet my friend."

Almost immediately, Aramis could see the insular reluctance cross Athos' face, his lips downturning until Aramis kissed them, and even then they murmured against his mouth, "What sort of a friend is this?"

"Someone you'll like," Aramis promised, trying to walk away but finding that Athos tasted rather wonderfully of expensive wine and candied almonds.

"He's taking you away from me, I already dislike him – shall I have him killed?"

Aramis smacked him, smiling at the glitter in Athos' hooded eyes. "Don't you dare."

By the time they had reached the table, Porthos already had a new round of drinks, his usual sunshine smile firmly in place. "I beat you to it—"

The humour disappeared, overthrown by a shocked whisper, "Comte de la Fère?"

Athos froze, his hold tightening protectively on a bewildered Aramis' waist. "Porthos, what are you doing here?"

It was when Porthos looked guiltily between them that Aramis noticed something, noticed the same fine material that clothed them both, that same slightly aristocratic air – hidden by dry wit on Athos and cheekiness on Porthos.

They suited,  _matched_ , really, and Aramis knew he had to get to the bottom of this – or between it, between worked very well.

Aramis nibbled his lip and yanked Athos down to a chair, slightly amused when the two of them couldn't look away. "You know each other, then?"

"I saw Porthos last a month ago, in the Palace, for the peace treaty talks," Athos' voice was almost toneless, and then his eyes narrowed. "He told me he was a servant."

Porthos took a deep breath and then spread his hands sheepishly. "There's a slight chance that ain't true."

" _What?_ " Athos hissed, leaning forwards with a hand now on Aramis' leg.

Aramis laced his fingers over the top of Athos', and asked calmly, "Why?"

Porthos gave him a grateful glance, but almost immediately he looked back to Athos again, his smile apologetic. "I liked the way you looked at me."

Athos blinked, shock warring with his anger, and his response came out a bit of both. "What made you think it would change?"

Porthos shrugged, brashness hiding the hurt. "Everyone else's did."

Aramis wanted to reach out and hug him, drag Athos with him and climb into his lap – but there would be time for that later, he just had to remind them both that they could. "As you can see," Aramis said with a glance at that pale hand still on his leg, "that doesn't really matter to Athos."

Porthos' smile took its time in coming, but when it did, it was intrigued. "How'd you two meet then?"

"I was strolling innocently down the street when some rich madman scooped me up and stole me away to his tower."

Athos gave him a look that was so unimpressed, Porthos started laughing.

"No,  _I_ was on one of my sojourns through the taverns of Paris when I was solicited by sweet eyes and a dirty mouth."

Aramis gasped indignantly at Athos' smirk, and to distract himself from tasting it, asked, "Wait, do you outrank Athos?"

"No," Athos replied distractedly, and narrowed his eyes when Porthos looked down. "Do you?"

Porthos winced. "My estate's a bit bigger."

Athos muttered a curse word and Aramis leaned against his side to tease, "It's not the size,  _mon cher_ , it's what you do with it."

At Porthos' chuckle, Athos glared at them both. "At least I  _bought_  my gifts," Athos muttered, but his cheek twitched when Porthos leaned forwards to brush a finger against it.

"You sayin' you didn't like that fur stole – which I stole?"

Athos looked set to bite him for that terrible joke. "You said you took it from the Marquis' room."

"I did."

Athos' expression grew pained, but there was something vulnerable hidden in its carefully closed depths. "You could have been killed, or worse, had your title stripped from you."

Aramis thought it a little interesting that Athos ranked them that way, but Porthos just shrugged, that finger returning to Athos' cheek again, this time it was softer, and it lingered. "It made you smile."

Athos' inhale was sharp and sweet, confusion chasing surprise across his features, and then it settled into one Aramis recognised. Concern, so much of it underneath that nonchalant façade. "You shouldn't be here."

Porthos scowled, clearly disliking the shift in control. "You're 'ere, ain't you?"

"Yes, but my reasons are…"

"Flirtatious?" Aramis offered, earning one of Athos' little smiles.

"Quite, and yours, I imagine…"

"No, he's been very flirtatious," Aramis said seriously, this time earning two smiles, one with a delicious hint of warning in it.

"He always is," Athos drawled, one hand reaching up to rub a phantom mark on his neck, one that made Porthos grin, made Aramis want to see what had caused it, wanted to make one of his own, and feel it too.

Their humour faded, Athos' sigh leaving worry on his face. "What's happened?"

Porthos shifted his weight, trying to seem unconcerned. "I 'ad a little problem with a law. Turns out if you say you don't want a title an' then spend more than half the year under a different name, they start takin' you seriously."

Athos looked horrified, so Aramis offered casually, "Real names are a waste of time."

Some tension left Porthos' shoulders at Aramis' reaction, and his smile was somewhere on the way to happy. "Names are what you make 'em, an' I like my new one."

"So that's it, you're leaving that life behind?"

Porthos gave Athos a pointed look. "You 'ated it as much as I did, don't pretend we sneaked off durin' all those talks just 'cause I was persistent."

Athos wasn't one to back down, but he did smirk. "You were, though."

"'Course I was, you didn't look right all neat an' made up, you needed a good rufflin'."

When Aramis raised his eyebrows in barely concealed glee at them, Athos did something he had never seen before and flushed.

Porthos grinned, his voice lowering as he said to Aramis, "Highlight of those fuckin' meets, that flush."

"I think we should take this elsewhere," Athos said through his teeth, glaring good-naturedly.

"To the townhouse?" Aramis asked excitedly, already pining for Athos' four-poster bed – and everything that might happen in it.

"Where else am I going to keep you two out of sight?"

"Not out of trouble though, you've got years of this now," Porthos reminded, his hand settling briefly on the back of Athos' neck, bringing the three of them in together from all walks of life.

"I didn't doubt it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the idea of Porthos being this prince from a distant land (think 'Coming to America'), all posh silks and exotic fruits, but he's so _bored,_ he wants to explore, and when he does he's a survivor, he adapts. Athos just sneaks out because otherwise Aramis hangs around the servants' quarters and pounces on him unexpectedly.
> 
> Your comments are like the candles on my birthday cake, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	9. Have Thy Will, For I Am Shame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 9 - _Paranormal Idea 1._
> 
> I'm deliberately avoiding a description for tension's sake, but suffice to say it's paranormal and there's probably vampires and demons in it, so 'ware your crucifixes if it's not your thing.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Athamis, angst, yeah, there's always a couple, vamp-hating homophobia, directly inspired by ['Two Loves'](https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Two_Loves_\(1894_poem\)) by Lord Alfred Douglas, and its more "sinister" meanings involving Wilde.

There was a thundering through Aramis' veins, and sometimes he felt a jump, a skip, his body trying to cope with the adrenaline, with the heat soaring under his skin.

It always felt odd, that fresh infusion of salty sweetness.

It was odder not leaving immediately, it was totally bizarre that he licked at a pale neck and snuggled closer, sighing happily when an arm looped unconsciously about his waist, the protectiveness in it seeming silly when Aramis' kill count was in the hundreds.

He still liked it though, feeling safe, even if he wasn't.

If anything he was tiptoeing right up to the lion and tugging on its whiskers, he was dancing on a knife edge, he was flirting with death – but he and death had a very personal relationship.

Just like him and Athos.

It was Porthos who had noticed it first, both Aramis' weakness for danger and for Athos. They had been out for a bite to eat, stopped for a drink in their favourite bar, and Aramis had winked at a man with ice-blue eyes who had been screwing him out since they arrived.

A quick flirt, two shots, and a kiss in the shadows later, Aramis had skipped back to Porthos' side to announce, "I think I love him."

Porthos had snorted, well aware of how easily Aramis fell for a whispered order and a nip on the lip – it was how they had met all those years ago. "What's 'is name?"

"Athos," Aramis had replied dreamily, tossing his curls when he knew Athos was watching.

"I dunno, there's somethin' not right about 'im," Porthos had mused, surprised when Athos had met his gaze and not looked away. There weren't many people who could handle the stare, but Athos had thrown one straight back.

Not the same though, it wasn't blood-flecked, it was ice-toothed; it was odd.

It was the stare of a bounty hunter.

Aramis had walked straight into the lion's den and not even known it, arched right under his claws and asked for more, begged for it, because Athos was glacial glory and coaxed goose-bumps all over Aramis' slowly heating skin.

Athos had said such pretty things, things that seemed to surprise him, and every bit of praise had brought Aramis further onto Athos' lap, had brought Athos further into Aramis' heart.

Athos had bared his neck, and Aramis hadn't bitten.

It was foolish, it was dangerous, it was odd.

Aramis hadn't known why Athos had stared at him, those ice-toothed eyes blinking in confusion, closing when Aramis kissed his throat – one painfully delicious kiss that had sent Athos' pulse practically jumping into Aramis' mouth – and then hugged him, hard, his forehead against Athos' chest, Athos' heartbeat a heady hammering in his ears.

He hadn't known why Athos had gently placed him on the bed and whispered those pretty things against his skin, but he had seemed different after.

Softer.

The man who had stared Porthos down and somehow rivalled Aramis' strength had tucked Aramis against his front and held him as if he was something impossible.

As if he was something to protect.

A month of that, a month of those pretty things and those pretty eyes and  _feeling_ pretty, because Athos told him so in murmured tones that felt like reverence.

Aramis had known about the bounty hunting for a week, but he had been feeding from Athos for longer, in the nights, when he slept, and it made him feel guilty when it should have made him angry, made him furious, made him kill a shadow that had hunted his kind for centuries.

Athos didn't know what Aramis was, and so Aramis pretended he didn't know either.

They all knew about the hunters, they were tales told around the fires of old and the cigarettes of today, they were quick and fast and cold and agents of a man who could have been Death himself.

Aramis was old, but Athos was older still, Aramis felt it in his bones, in the languages lost against his skin and the age in those eyes that melted when they were together, when Aramis smiled at him, when Aramis arched for him.

It hurt, to hide the truth from Athos, to hide  _himself_ from Athos, when all he wanted to do was be honest, be happy, and be together, forever.

Aramis had fallen for the oldest trick in the book, and it was Athos.

"Aramis, love, it can't work, I wish it could but it can't, you  _know_ that."

Aramis looked up miserably from his glass, Porthos' sympathy making him want to cry. "But I love him."

"It's life, sweet, dogs chase cats an' hunters kill vampires," Porthos said, his shrug confident but concerned. "What're you gonna do when he finds out?"

Aramis' voice came out a desperately hopeful whisper, almost indiscernible from the babble in the bar. "I think he loves me too."

Porthos sighed and dragged him in for a hug, pretending not to hear the broken little sobs against his shoulder or the flutter of a heart that should have stopped a long time ago.

When the door exploded off its hinges, it was only because he was in Porthos' arms that he didn't get blown to pieces, and instead he was shoved to the floor and covered by Porthos' bulk.

Almost immediately, Porthos was pulled off of him and thrown to two strangers, thrown by a woman with eyes colder than Athos', and these ones didn't warm. They were green.

"Hello, little pet," she crooned, voice dripping with poison, and when she brandished a stake longer than Aramis' arm, he thought he finally saw death.

Porthos struggled in the lackeys' grips, action where Aramis was inaction, purpose where there was none.

"This doesn't need to happen," Aramis stated, voice unsteady as he eyed the ebony spike. "Do we even know why we're fighting? The world can change." His voice quietened, "It has to."

If he had expected her to be swayed, he was cruelly disappointed, just as he was by the state of the world.

"Very poetic, I see why he likes you," she said simply, and then her fingers clenched.

Aramis threw up his arm and squeezed his eyes shut, seconds passing before he opened them again, and all he could see was Athos. Athos was there, standing over him with a sword to her neck.

"Leave."

It vibrated with command, the power in it making even Porthos stare wide-eyed before he realised he could pull free. Whatever he saw in Athos' face made him chase the others out, made him trust Athos to protect him.

"He'll cast you out for this and then where will you go, to your pet?" Her laugh was a sneer. "I'll tell him you fell to the worst."

When Athos twitched, Aramis struggled to his feet. Those green eyes flicked to him, and they were  _hungry._

In a flash, Athos had an arm hooked around Aramis' waist as the other brandished a sword so old Aramis could almost taste the metal. "Tell him what you want, I no longer serve."

The jade chips of her eyes narrowed with a hiss, and then she was gone, leaving debris and despair in her wake, leaving Athos to his fate, to a life of false-truths with Aramis.

The guilt crested like a sickening wave inside of him, guilt and gratitude and godawful love that dared not speak its name.

"Athos, no, I can't," he stammered, panicky breaths making him twist in Athos' grip to clutch at his shirt, that sword a very real presence at his side.

But so was Athos.

It was odd.

"I'm a vampire."

Ice-toothed eyes stared into his blood-soaked ones, and Aramis flinched when pale fingers brushed over his heart only to cup his cheek and say calmly, "I know."

Aramis gasp was almost painful in its relief. "Since when?"

"Since I first saw you, I've known so many things since then." It was said in that same wondering voice as their first night, and Athos was still holding him just as protectively. "I know you knew I was a hunter, I know you have a strange fascination for being bitten despite being the one whose livelihood depends on it. I know about Porthos, too."

Aramis flushed and hung his head, awed by Athos in his entirety. "I've been feeding from you."

At that, amusement flashed across Athos' face, his thumb gently lifting Aramis' chin. "No more midnight snacks – I'm curious to know what I missed out on."

Aramis was uncertain, even as he wanted Athos to feel the euphoria of a bite from the very thing he had hunted. "You're leaving your life behind."

"I have a new one to protect."

Aramis finally saw the true face of death, and he had cold eyes that warmed when Aramis smiled, and lips that fit perfectly against his.

The bounty hunter and the vampire.

It wasn't odd at all, it was love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when I drink white wine all night, lots of feels and some heartbreak-made-whole. C'mon, you should know by now, I'm a fiend for happy-endings. One day I'm going to shock you all by actually writing something that suddenly ends in the tragic part and it's going to wreck you... _But when~!?_
> 
> Your comments are like the vampires to my bounty hunter, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	10. Kohl Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 10 - _“I was trying to take a sneaky picture of you because I told my friend about the hot guy on the train and she wanted to see but you totally noticed and yeah this is awkward” AU._
> 
> I've read so much Marauders meta lately (I'm not even in the HP fandom) that the yoof mentality kinda stuck with me, then this happened. I did have to make up some characters as I went though, again with the creative licence.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Trevelieu, no, wait for it, TEENAGE TREVELIEU, yeah, well, twenties, but still, adorable, I hope, and Athos' papa.

"All I'm saying, Trev, is that there's nothing  _wrong_ with it these days."

Treville tried not to grind his teeth together as he squeezed his phone against his face, hoping nobody else on the train could hear his idiotic friend. "Listen, la Fère, just because you're settling down and having a kid doesn't mean I have to."

"You could always adopt."

"You're a twat and I hate you," Treville whispered angrily.

"I spoke to Larroque earlier, they're popping one out too – you'll be the last if you're not careful."

"Good," Treville muttered, mentally hoping that his smug shit of a best friend would trip on a wire and brain himself. "I can be the fun uncle then."

There was a soft laugh down the phone that Treville only heard because the train had pulled in to the station. Preparing to rip his friend a new one, his words died in his mouth when someone sat opposite him.

Skinny, seriously skinny black jeans around graceful legs drew Treville's eyes upwards to some sort of black lace collar wound around the proud arch of a pale neck.

It wasn't the black nail polish that grabbed Treville's attention, it wasn't even the fuck off crucifix that hung outside of his white shirt, it was the pointed strip of a goatee and a twisty moustache set about thin lips pursed into a scowl.

When he settled in his chair, his dark blazer fell open and Treville saw a flash of dark red silk in the lining.

If anyone was ever going to be an evil villain, it was this guy.

So why did he have to be so attracted him?

"Uhh… I gotta go."

"Oh, shit, what is it, what have you seen?"

"Nothing, go away."

"Is he cute?"

Treville almost smacked his palm against his forehead. "Why do you always jump to that?!"

"That means he is. C'mon, Trev, spill the beans."

"You know I hate that name,  _Gaia._ "

At last, it seemed Treville had finally managed to annoy his friend enough to shut him up, and he had a few blissful moments of silence before a muttered, "Fine, but unless you take a picture of him, you will forever be known as  _Uncle Trev._ "

"Bastard," Treville said, unable to hide his chuckle, and had to turn it into a cough when a mother with her child turned to glare at him for swearing. "I'll ex-tay ou-yay."

"Subtle."

The line clicked off and Treville pretended to fiddle with his phone, unable to stop himself from glancing up occasionally. He couldn't stop watching him, there was always something else to see every time.

The slight curl to his hair, the fat silver ring on one finger – it looked like it had a hinge.

It was definitely poison.

Oh, bloody hell, why did that make him seem even hotter? Gaia was right, he just kept making life difficult for himself. It wasn't enough that he had shunned university to join the Army, now he had to have a hobby for buggery.

As hobbies went, mind, it was a good one. All his childhood he couldn't talk to girls, he finally learned how and now it was clever, skinny, conniving boys that did it for him.

Boys that looked like they didn't give a shit he could lift his own bodyweight and salute worth a damn, and probably thought he looked much better on his back, possibly even wearing that delicate little lace collar…

A part of Treville's thoughts stepped away from the others and said,  _seriously?_

He was just going to take the picture and then throw himself off at the next stop even if it wasn't the one he needed, this was too much, the pressure was too great, the need prickling his skin too strange.

He couldn't stop looking at him.

One more picture, the light wasn't great in the other one, he had to get the goatee in.

How did someone even get that much precision on their facial hair? If Treville tried anything more than a vague shadow of bristle then he ended up shaving more and more until there was nothing left. It had to have been done with a straight razor like the fancy, ivory-handled one his dad had left him.

There was something about the thought of those slim fingers holding a deadly blade that made him want to moan like a horny teenager.

Treville repositioned – complete with a nonchalant tug at his trousers – and realised he was being watched. Watched by focused grey eyes that were alight in amusement, one eyebrow arched perfectly at his phone angled straight at him.

Shit.

"If you're planning to send that to someone, at least let me see it first," were the measured words that left those slightly curved lips, and Treville froze like a deer in headlights.

He had years' worth of trained muscle to his name, and still he froze like a lion that had seen a venomous snake in the grass, because the snake was sly and quick and terrifyingly beautiful.

When Treville let out an eloquent,  _uh,_ those grey eyes flicked to the seat next to his, encouraging him over.

Ordering him to.

There was something on that starkly angled face that said he expected Treville to do as he was told, and so he did, something heated and nervous twisting in his stomach as he did it.

He fell into the chair awkwardly, and when he caught the satisfied flash in those calculating eyes, he slumped like a kid that had been caught chewing gum, and glumly showed the screen of the picture he had been about to send.

Caught bang to rights and probably fucked any and all chances of tasting the poison from that clever tongue.

At the sound of the text being sent, he jerked in surprise and saw that those eyebrows were raised again. "Not my best angle, slumming it on the train, but one must make do, hm?"

Treville blinked, mind racing, and somehow he managed to say, "You have bad angles?"

There was a pleased little hum that Treville grinned at, thanking God that he remembered how to be cheeky, and then his phone buzzed.

[[Seriously? What's with the beard?]]

Tilting his phone away, he quickly tapped a reply. [[Shut up gaia I like it.]]

[[ENOUGH WITH THE GAIA, TREV.]]

"Gaia?" It was said softly, curiosity in its tone that made it sound like a whisper, one that tickled Treville's neck and made him shiver.

There was a chin almost resting on his shoulder, and Treville flushed like an idiot.

"Oh, his son's middle name is Athos," he explained, because it didn't feel like he had a choice and he didn't really want one.

A small, satisfied smile showed perfect teeth, but it was more like the smile of something that knew it wouldn't have to try hard to eat you, because you might be strong but you were fun to play with.

Because you wanted to lose.

"One of the Gigantes."

Treville glanced up in surprise, and sheepishly admitted, "Yeah, I liked Classics."

"You couldn't tell from looking at you."

Treville froze with his hand pushing through his hair, it was getting long, probably too long, and his jeans weren't in that great condition – there was a paintball splatter on his left knee, neon pink, Gaia's handiwork.

Once again he was floundering for words, for his tongue to do something other than nervously swipe his lips, because it was getting a lot of attention.

Treville's own attention was locked on those grey eyes, they were lidded now, but focused entirely on him, as if he was the most interesting thing in the world, and with it was a quietly murmured, "I like surprises."

_Fuck, that was hot._

Okay, he had to do something, he had to seal the deal, ask for his number, his name, whether he liked scrambled eggs or fried in the mornings, the mornings after Treville had lost and been really fucking happy to do so.

That lace collar still about his neck.

He licked his lips again, which was about the same time that fingers started playing with the short hairs on his neck, and it felt like bliss.

"Tell me, Trev, when—"

Treville frowned even as he said drowsily, "Jean, call me Jean."

Those thin lips curved even further when he rolled his head, giving those clever fingers access to the spot behind his ear and nearly purring like the tiny lion he evidently was.

"Armand," he murmured, and there was such dark delight in it, his voice now a whisper. "This is a long trip."

Treville opened an eye and grinned, his palm landing on one graceful leg but his fingers curved to push into the soft flesh underneath the dark denim. There was a surprised intake of breath that made him laugh, "We'll have to take more pictures then, won't we?"

Armand glanced at his proprietary hold and smirked. "Indeed we will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can't tell me Richelieu didn't go through a Goth phase, careful eyeliner around his eyes, but tidy, neat, and driving Treville crazy, aaaand they switch like little rabbits.
> 
> Your comments are like the food carts to my trains, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	11. Water Warfare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 11 - _How to deal with a heat wave the Musketeer way (could be canon)._
> 
> Prompt credit to: [Scrabble](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrabble/pseuds/Scrabble)! <3
> 
>  **TAGS:** OT3, Constagnan, I've missed d'Art running around, sunny sticky sweetness, it was canon, and then water-guns, so, y'know, interesting to do it canon-style though, buckets and rivers and hiding kisses in the shade of trees...

"It's too  _hot._ "

The plaintive cry came from d'Artagnan, who was sprawled dramatically in the shade, limbs akimbo.

Athos might have berated him for it if Aramis hadn't been doing the same thing next to him, one arm thrown across his eyes and naked if it weren't for the shorts d'Artagnan had loudly insisted on.

Athos observed them both with a faint smile, content with his seat just inside the door – safe from the heat but gifted with an occasional breeze.

"I did say you shouldn't be in the sun at midday."

Aramis scowled at him, and then suddenly perked up considerably, sliding onto his hands and knees as Athos stared warily at him.

"What do you want,  _chaton._ "

Aramis somehow managed to sway his hips even as he crawled closer. "You look nice and cool there,  _mon cher._ "

Aramis pounced, and Athos found himself on his back with an overly warm Aramis plastered to his front.

Aramis' sigh was drowsy as he pushed his hot cheek into Athos' neck. "This is nice."

It was awful, but unable to deny Aramis anything, he curved an arm around Aramis' waist, wincing at the stickiness of his skin.

Aramis wriggled, snickering when Athos glared and humming happily when he managed to sit astride Athos' hips. Athos, meanwhile, was contemplating grinding upwards into the warmth of him.

He laughed when d'Artagnan went into the house with a disgusted noise.

"You're causing a scene," he murmured, and gave Aramis an unimpressed look when he stroked his hot palms down his considerably cooler front.

He had been wearing a shirt, but Porthos had made quick work of that somewhere between the breakfast table and the kitchen sink.

Porthos was enjoying the ludicrous weather, he was muddying his green thumb and cutting a topiary into something lewd at the other end of the garden. By the time he had finished his hard day's graft – with leaves in his hair and a pair of secateurs in one hand – he was glistening.

"Are you sweating or wet?" Aramis asked dubiously as Porthos pulled them both to their feet.

"Bit of both."

Aramis wrinkled his nose, which Athos could have told him was a bad idea, because Porthos immediately grabbed him in a bear hug and chuckled at Aramis' outraged squeaks.

At Athos' smirk, Porthos tried to reach for him too, only to find Athos had already stepped back, well used to his tricks. "No thank you, I've just had Aramis crawling all over me."

Porthos grinned, placing one large hand over Aramis' stomach – which made Athos smile when Aramis screeched at the warmth of it. "I'd've liked to see that."

"They were mounting each other!" D'Artagnan called accusingly from the kitchen, presumably where the sounds of a cutlery-based tornado were happening.

"Even better," Porthos murmured, grin widening, and Athos watched from the doorway when Aramis nuzzled Porthos' neck with long, wet kisses.

They stood in the sunshine like unashamed nymphs, and Athos was hard-pressed not to go to them, not to enjoy the sun-charged sexuality that Aramis always exuded in the summer months.

It was too hot though.

"Seriously?" Porthos asked in amazement as Aramis continued licking the sweat on his skin. "We ain't better than the heat?"

Athos shrugged, knowing what would come next if he did. They swarmed him. Pressed between them, simultaneously content and uncomfortable, warm hands everywhere and unbearably hot breath on both sides of his throat.

Athos shivered, and Porthos' satisfied laugh made him glare, made him twist to put Aramis between them, keeping his attention with teasing kisses and a firm palm sliding down his tan stomach.

It made Aramis' breath catch, made him arch, which made Porthos growl, harder when Athos flashed him a smug look.

"Guys, please."

Aramis fell limp against Porthos' chest when Athos turned to give d'Artagnan an apologetic look, Porthos taking a moment to rearrange – both himself, and Aramis nosing at his chest.

"Pimms, nice one, Pup! Where's my beer?"

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes and flourished a bottle, passing glasses to the rest of them. "You were out of pineapple."

"Uh, yeah, we found a better use for it," Porthos explained seriously, and chuckled when d'Artagnan went from suspicion to horror. "You put a stick through it and toast it over a fire."

Aramis nodded with faux-gravitas. "Isn't that what they call spit-roast—"

Athos cleared his throat and gave them warning looks, trying vainly to hide his smile when d'Artagnan looked ready to jam his fingers in his ears and start shouting nonsense. "Thank you for the drinks, d'Artagnan."

At Porthos' wolfish grin and Aramis' sly one, Athos had to look away, but was thankfully distracted from touching the heated marks under his hairline when the doorbell rang.

D'Artagnan raced ahead of him, opening the door onto a beaming Constance. "Gentlemen, I bring weapons."

They crowded in the hallway, Athos observing them in silent amusement as Porthos called, "Constance, you star."

"Best girlfriend ever."

"Let's play now!"

"Teams?"

"Athos!" Aramis said immediately, and smiled smugly when Porthos glared at him. "What? You were about to say it."

"Yeah, 'course, Athos 'as beaten us at laser tag blindfolded."

Athos glanced up with a smirk when they both grinned at that particular memory – their month's ban had been worth it – but it faded when he picked up one of the plastic contraptions. "How do these work?"

When Porthos started to laugh, Aramis' jaw dropped. "No! Athos! You must know!"

"They're water-guns, sweet," Porthos explained and then tauntingly patted a gobsmacked Aramis on the cheek. "Good luck, you're gonna need it."

Aramis looked miserable as the others raced off, and Athos laughed quietly as he took two of the guns and told Aramis to watch from the upstairs window.

There was a surprising amount of joy in forcing a growling Porthos to his knees with Athos' water-gun at the base of his neck.

The look in his eyes when Athos asked him to beg and squirted him anyway was better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand I suddenly have an idea for the next paranormal prompt! ;) I wonder what it could pertain to...
> 
> Your comments are like the sprinklers to my parched grass, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	12. Lip Service

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 12 - _“Okay I get that there are no seats left in this cafe but like I am trying to read here no you cannot have this chair my feet are using it thank you very much please get out of my face now” AU._
> 
> One of these days I'm going to stop laughing at my terrible jokes, but srsly, lip service? C'mon, hilarious.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Porthathos, Athos lying to himself, I wonder what the theme could be, surprise, it's power dynamics, have I shocked you? Oh, also piercings, I have such a thing for people who smile with their tongue between their teeth, even better if it's pierced.

Coffee was an unfortunate necessity in Athos' life. A necessity because he couldn't function this early in the morning without it, and it was unfortunate because it involved said early mornings.

Still, he'd finally found a barista that didn't maul the old arts, and their sweet little smiles and cinnamon curls were enough sugar for him to keep returning to the same place, to stake his claim on the seat in the corner, away from the bustling crowds of an overfull shop.

Athos wasn't the type to put his feet on a chair, too many ingrained reprimands for dirty shoes on fine upholstery, but he had his briefcase on it, and the edge of one calf crossed over his knee did rest on the lip of the seat.

A little act of rebellion, if you will.

"Hey, s'it alright if I 'ave this chair?"

It took Athos a moment to realise it was him being addressed. People didn't address him, and if they did, the slow lift of his head normally sent them running before he could meet their eye.

Athos' gaze slowly travelled from heavy leather boots over thick thighs and a broad chest until he met a scarred eyebrow that was raised as high as his own.

If that little rebellious part of Athos' thinking appreciated barely concealed muscle and a sense of danger, he could easily dismiss it. After all, they would run, they always did.

Even the ones with a head of tight curls and a friendly smile on a generous mouth.

 _Especially_ those ones.

"No."

Athos returned his attention to his book and turned a page, pretending not to hear the quiet huff of a disbelieving laugh.

"There aren't any other seats, mate."

"How unfortunate for you," Athos replied, not bothering to raise his voice higher than he had to, and even shifted his leg so it rested more heavily on the other chair.

A rucksack landed on top of his calf.

Athos didn't move his head, he simply looked up under his frown, only to see that generous mouth pulled up at one corner.

And a tongue piercing caught between teeth.

"I'm gonna get a drink now, give you a minute to 'ave a little think 'bout whether you've got the common courtesy to give up your briefcase's chair." A tilt of that strong-planed face. "That alright?"

He didn't wait for Athos to answer, he just walked off to leave Athos blinking in absolute stupefaction, in – what he had to admit was – some portion of  _awe_  at daring to talk back to him.

Athos couldn't help himself from staring after the arrogant man – and he refused to admit that perhaps he had deserved it. It was, of course, interesting to find someone who didn't run, who challenged him so recklessly, but there was no desire to be  _told_  in Athos' genetic makeup, no passion for submission.

No, what sent desire prickling up his spine was imagining that broad back bent over this very chair, his own pale fingers digging into darker flesh, his own voice taunting as he asked if somebody wanted  _a little think._

Athos could be very courteous, when he wanted to be.

By the time he had come back, Athos' briefcase was under his seat, and it earned him a smile that was less  _friendly_ and more… satisfied.

It seemed he wasn't the only one whose thoughts trailed somewhat towards the controlling.

This was going to be interesting.

He fell rather than sat, a sprawling of limbs that threatened to encroach on Athos' space – and, oh, how he wanted them to, just so he had a reason to  _bite._

There was a cup of something sweet-smelling in large hands. "What changed your mind?"

"Your comment about common courtesy moved me," Athos murmured without taking his eyes off of his book, and it was a struggle to keep them there when he heard a low laugh.

"Funny. Didn't think you'd be funny."

"You don't know me, Porthos."

Athos greatly enjoyed the twitch that rocked that well-built frame, that taunting smile finally fading. "How the—"

"Your bag is labelled."

"Huh, okay, funny, observant, a grumpy little fuck." Porthos waited for Athos throw him an unimpressed look before adding, "with the hottest death-glare I've ever seen."

Athos blinked at Porthos' growing grin, at the delight on his face.

"What's this? You flushin' at compliments now?"

Athos forced himself to shrug, tamed his tone to nonchalance. "Simply surprised, but then I suppose someone built like a bear would have a mouth of honey, wouldn't they?"

Porthos rocked back on his chair with a bark of stunned laughter. "A bear, eh?"

Athos regretted his choice of words almost immediately, especially when Porthos looked at him as if the stings were well worth it if it meant he could get at the sweetness within.

This was  _not_ going to plan, so he cleared his throat, studiously ignored the soft, knowing laugh, and waited for Porthos' attention to drift – to Athos' favourite barista, who smiled shyly at him.

Bastard.

What was it about Porthos that attracted him so, that made him falter before he fought? Athos allowed himself another look, another evaluation.

Unfortunately there weren't nearly as many flaws as he had wanted to see.

The frown should have been too menacing, but the eyes glimmered with a magnetic mischief, with a challenge that Athos couldn't help but respond to. The jaw should have been too stubborn, but it was offset by the mouth that so easily smiled, with an enticement just the same.

The tongue piercing should have been harsh, off-putting, perturbing. Instead, all that ended up being perturbing was how curious Athos was about what it would feel like against his tongue – piercings were not his style, they were tacky and needless and a grab for attention.

Athos did  _not_ like them.

"Do you wanna see it?"

"What?" Athos was rather pleased with how steady his voice was when inside he had started to panic, hoping his thoughts weren't displayed across his face – or in the subtle rearranging of his legs.

"Well, s'much as I wanna think you're lookin' at my, er,  _mouth of honey,_ 'cause you wanna taste it, I'm gonna guess my pierce is fascinatin' you – 'specially as you don't seem to 'ave any."

Athos opened his mouth to deny everything, but then he paused. When else would he get this opportunity? The ilk that filled his days were dull, plain, and cowered from the raise of his brow.

Porthos was… gratifyingly different.

"Yes," he mused, and hastily corrected, "Yes, I would be interested to see it, no, I don't have any."

Those mischievous eyes dropped to take him in and say, "Shame."

Porthos winked and opened his mouth, but shut it when Athos sat forwards.

"Show me again," Athos demanded without thinking, and immediately found himself back in his chair, Porthos leaning over him, a surprised exhale parting Athos' lips when a hand landed on his thigh.

"You wanna feel it?" It was more of a purr than a growl, but he  _did_ smell sweet, like the syrup in coffee, darker than the cinnamon of the attractive barista.

Athos looked from those magnetic eyes to the wide smile and back again, his pulse a frenetic thing in his throat, and that little rebellious voice saying  _yes, everywhere._

"No," Athos said, so quietly it was almost a whisper. "I want to taste it."

The bastard smiled that same satisfied smile, but before Athos could snap at him for it, Porthos was licking at the seam of his lips, an insistent,  _encouraging_ thing as if Athos might be skittish.

Athos opened his mouth to snarl, but then Porthos' tongue curled around his, and the smooth slide of metal ball made Athos' breathing hitch.

 _Oh,_ the rational part of Athos' head thought,  _that's what that feels like._

The intensely curious and rebellious part had Athos twisting his fingers in the collar of Porthos' t-shirt, swallowing Porthos' grunt and wondering how else he could get that mouth to open, whether Porthos groaned aloud when he came.

"Steal my chair again and you will regret it, do you understand?"

Porthos grinned against his mouth, his weight a heavy warmth on Athos' thigh. "Regret ain't a part of my vocabulary, darlin', but I'd like to see you try."

Athos tilted his head, letting Porthos go only to find he barely moved, that flash of steel still so very close, still so very fascinating. "Victory is not enough of a compulsion, I also want ten minutes to do with your piercing what I will."

Porthos' brows raised in surprise, but his grin was pleased, still full of mischief. "Why don't  _you_ get one? I'll hold your 'and, promise."

Athos frowned, but suddenly his gaze was drawn past Porthos to the attractive barista watching them with wide, interested eyes, his smile not so shy anymore.

Athos' smirk was a slow, challenging thing that made Porthos hum captivatedly.

"How about a wager?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess he _pierced_ Athos' cold exterior, hm? Ohohohohohostopme. This is practically cliffhanger-level of ending, isn't it? I wonder who won~? (I know, I know who won.)
> 
> Your comments are like the bars to my bells, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	13. Tachycardia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 13 - _Ice cream._
> 
> I can't stop with these two all of a sudden. The title's not my best but it's late and I love the thought of Richelieu describing an elevated heart rate as something scientific and not because he's hopelessly in love with the romantic fool who keeps smiling at him.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Trevelieu, busy businessmen, I cannot handle how shockingly cute they can be.

After signing his name on what felt to be the thousandth document of the day, Armand put his fountain pen down and glared at the thousand still to go.

Anyone who said that getting to the upper echelons of the business world meant that the work got easier was a lying bastard.

If anything it was harder, namely because nobody worked as hard as he did and he was too proud to admit that it was getting tiring, that he had enough on his plate overseeing the projects and forging alliances without adding the handling of employees into the mix.

Four particular employees who kept getting away with murder because his ridiculous counterpart secretly adored them.

Jean Treville made his life so very difficult.

Armand blinked at the cream and caramel thing thrust in front of his face, and raised a dubiously enquiring eyebrow at the man who had the gall to sit on his desk – and with an ice cream cone in his hands, no less. "You're aware that you've just sat on our portfolio?"

The man who had a stake in their business and could ever so easily drive one through his heart gave him a similarly dubious expression. "I thought it felt boring."

Armand's mouth threatened to curve, so he busied himself with sliding the folder out from under worn denim, but that frustratingly well-defined  _derrière_ refused to move. " _Jean_."

" _Armand_."

The eyes that looked down at him from that lined, loved face should not have been such a lovely shade of pale blue, should not have wrinkles at their edges because of how often he smiled, should not have fixed themselves in Armand's head like his guiding light.

Jean offered him his cone again, the ice cream at odd angles from where he licked haphazardly with absolutely no thought to symmetry.

Armand gave up on the portfolio and simply leaned back in his chair, his hand resting on Jean's knee as if it was completely inconsequential and not because Armand liked to touch him. "Did you ever grow up, Jean?"

It earned him a tilt of a brunette head, hair as scruffy as his shirt – unbuttoned, despite Armand's insistence that the four rascals were going to think they could do it too. "Did you?"

Armand took a deep breath, something wry tugging at his cheeks. "How can I when you won't let me?"

Jean's smile was still as boyish as it was the day they had met all those years ago, and it still managed to make butterflies the exact same shade as his eyes flutter maniacally in Armand's stomach.

If his thumb rubbed little circles on Jean's knee, he made no mention of it, just as he never mentioned how tactile Armand was when they were alone, how he commanded a company with iron will but left it all at the door when they got home.

Well, almost all.

There were times when the will was useful, especially with someone so stubborn, someone who knew how to distract him, how to turn him from Richelieu to Armand.

It was Richelieu who squeezed that knee, but it was Armand who stroked it when Jean leaned down to kiss him, and it was Armand who shivered when Jean kept it slow and sweet and sumptuous.

"How do you do this to me?" Armand asked quietly of the man who brought chaos to his ordered life – and sometimes made him like it.

Jean straightened a little, widening his legs so that he knocked a stapler off of the edge of the desk. "What, distracting you?" When Armand didn't answer, couldn't, he leaned closer again, returning to kiss him. "Making you smile?" Jean licked his ice cream and then Armand's tongue. "Making you laugh?"

Armand didn't hide his soft huff of amusement, nor his one of pleasure when Jean continued to give him tastes of his ice cream, and so he was a little distracted when he murmured, "Making my days better."

Jean paused for a surprised moment at the affection inherent in his voice, but when Armand opened his mouth to say something dismissive, caught it with a kiss and replied, "I was going to ask you the same thing."

Armand's smile was tired as he rested their foreheads together. "I'm sorry I've been pushing this proposition so hard."

Jean didn't complain at the awkwardness of his posture, Armand was still sat in his chair but Jean was almost bent sideways to reach him, ever enduring. There was simply a gentle shrug, a nose nudged against his own. "It's what you do."

"Work hard?"

"No, push," Jean teased, and laughed when Armand bared his teeth, which was what he expected.

Jean did much the same in their fights, ignoring the personal jabs and tailored insults as if they were water off of a duck's back, until Armand ran out of steam and soon ran out of apologies.

Jean never pushed him away but always made him answer for his foolishness – normally in ways that pleased them both.

Jean was the antivenom to his bite, and without him life would be too poisonous.

The ice cream reappeared, Jean leaning back on one arm to eat it, looking relaxed and youthful, and Armand couldn't help himself from crooking his finger and beckoning him back, earning a sly smirk and a sticky kiss.

They finished the ice cream that way, Jean giving him the cream-filled end of the cone, but still he didn't lift, didn't leave.

"I have to work," Armand murmured, concerned for the burn in that strong spine.

Jean's smile was wide but his voice was quiet. "Then stop kissing me."

A few seconds passed. "I can't."

"Then I suppose the work can wait."

Armand could not throw his work to the floor, nor could he sweep those precious papers from his desk, but he could take his phone off the hook, and he could rise up and ease that stubborn jaw with his fingers. "I suppose it can."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anti **venom** and not venin because the former is milked from the snake. Also you _know_ that bit with the stapler had to be answered later, and they _are_ still at the office, so I guess it's Richelieu who watches Treville pick it up and decide it's a sight he wants over his desk...
> 
> Your comments are like the cones to my ice cream, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	14. Provenance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 14 - _Both bidding in an auction for a property/lighthouse etc. Could be planning on renovating it, end up doing it together._
> 
> Prompt credit: [davis_bess_666!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/davis_bess_666) Thanks, my dear! <3  
> Forgive me some creative license with the amount of dialogue that happens during the auction, those things are Sonic fast but that little subplot needed to be told.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Portamis, OT3, the enemy of my enemy is a handsome bastard, I am so pleased with this title, I'm a sucker for something with layered meanings.

Porthos had been waiting for the property to come on the market for over a decade, he had more right than anybody to get it, because he had practically lived there.

Sneaking out to sleep under the stars in the sprawling, overrun gardens were some of his favourite childhood memories, and it had been depressing to see the house go to ruin.

It wasn't huge, but even if it was, the state of the place knocked a lot off of price, and Porthos had saved every single penny he owned so that he could buy it when it came up for sale.

He wouldn't be able to fix it, but it would be his, and that would be enough for now, even if he had to live off of baked beans and toast for the next year.

The problem was that he had competition; a flurry of people had been by the listings table in the auction house, and although most of them had flicked straight past his dilapidated daydream, some had not.

There was one there now, fingers tracing the picture as if he knew the place as well as Porthos did, which only made him glare at the fashionable cream jacket and grey jeans.

The guy looked like a poster boy for Abercrombie & Fitch for fuck's sake, clearly he could afford better than Porthos' lifelong wish – and it really didn't help that he was cute, too, and when he laughed at his dark-haired friend, it sounded like a bubbling brook.

He'd known a boy with a laugh like that, years ago, had shared his first kiss in the very grounds he was hoping to buy.

That boy had sounded innocent though, and this one sounded like a brook in the midst of a dark forest, all shadows and will-o'-wisps.

It was seriously no wonder Flea called him a romantic idiot, even if it was for wanting the property and not for thinking pretty things about pretty guys.

The wisp's friend stared to whine. "C'mon, Aramis, let's _go_."

"No, d'Artagnan, I'm having it and no one will stop me." Aramis looked up as he said it, and it just so happened to be when Porthos was staring at him.

There was almost a smile and it was almost familiar, but then Aramis realised why he was scowling.

"Absolutely no one," Aramis added, maintaining eye contact, and Porthos stifled the urge to growl.

They didn't see each other again until the bidding started, and there were enough people raising their paddles to have Porthos starting to worry, and Aramis' immediate counter-offers weren't helping.

What if he didn't have enough? He'd have to ask Treville for a loan, maybe the bank,  _oh fuck_ he was going to lose his dream before he could even realise it.

Before long it was just the two of them, the numbers going painfully high until even d'Artagnan was tugging at Aramis' sleeve in concern.

Neither of them backed down. It was a war to the death and they both knew it. One way or another, one of them was going home victorious.

They both flinched when a dignified cough split the air, and whipped around to see two pale fingers curl twice. The man looked bored, his hair slightly scruffy but his clothes immaculately tailored.

The auctioneer's amount doubled, and Porthos turned to Aramis with something akin to horror.

Aramis darted over. "Let's pool resources."

Porthos distractedly noticed Aramis' hand landing on his arm, warmth curling around his biceps. "Are you kiddin'? I don't even know you!"

Aramis was glaring at the haughty man, but whispered, "Why do you want it?"

"I used to play in the gardens as a kid."

Aramis turned to him so fast that Porthos nearly stepped back in surprise, and then those wide eyes traced from head to toe. "Porthos?"

"René?"

A wince had those wide eyes closing, but they were the same eyes, the same ones he had seen closing during a tentative, fumbling kiss all those years ago. "It's Aramis, now."

"Oh." Porthos couldn't think of anything to say, no clever rejoinders or cheeky remarks, all he could think was  _hot damn you grew up well._

Aramis' smile turned sly. "You filled out."

Porthos gave a shocked laugh, "Yeah, an' you got cuter."

Across from them, they were outbid again, and they both turned to glare at the same time. "Porthos, we need to do this. It's destiny."

Porthos felt a grin tugging at his cheeks and he shrugged, mentally trying to calculate the exorbitant numbers that they were being pushed to. "Yeah, we might 'ave to."

They talked numbers, fast and furious, and finally, Aramis raised both of their paddles, and gave their competitor a smug smile.

One eyebrow raised, and went higher when he realised that the two of them had teamed up against him, something like humour gleaming in his nonchalance.

Amazingly, those pale hands rose, palms towards them, and they stared in stupefaction as the auctioneer called their bid as won.

Aramis grabbed Porthos around the shoulders and planted a kiss square on his lips, they two of them laughing delightedly as Porthos lifted Aramis from the floor.

It was then that Porthos caught sight of their competitor, a definite smile on his face now, and Porthos couldn't quite look away.

Aramis ran off to find d'Artagnan, and Porthos found himself walking after the stranger, his fingers touching a strong shoulder to bring him around.

"Let me buy you a drink, to say thanks."

Aramis appeared at his arm in a flash, dubious stare disappearing when it earned him a smirk.

"Allow me, I suppose I owe you for raising the price."

"It wasn't an entirely bad move," Aramis murmured, flashing a smile at Porthos before turning it charming. "Of course, we don't have a living room to drink it in."

There was a tilt of proud, scruffy head. "I was looking for an investment."

Porthos couldn't help his grin. "We give great returns."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clue for the paranormal prompt in there somewhere~! This was quite compact but suffice to say the two of them refuse Athos' charity until they visit his house and are like, "we lived without water for a week WHY?" and Athos just shrugs and says, "Communal showers are good for the environment."
> 
> Your comments are like the gavels to my auctions, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	15. A Low Modulus of Rupture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 15 - _“My pottery bowl exploded in the kiln and I feel like a failure, you found me crying about it in the hallway” AU._
> 
> Oh, it said 'exploded', whoops. Well, in my defence, I've been writing a 6k chapter for something, might even publish it tomorrow...
> 
>  **TAGS:** Fleanon, background OT3, adorable friendships, filled the Fleanon tag, hurrah, I've missed these two, so many terrible pottery jokes.

Flea was having a terrible day.

Her best friend's two boyfriends were here and smooching up a storm across the pottery classroom, so every time she looked up she saw stupid smiles and whispered conversations.

She lost her concentration and fucked up her pot, it came out of the oven looking like something a gargoyle would love, and so she stormed into the opposite room before Porthos could chat shit about her being 'crazing', the bastard.

If that wasn't bad enough, the cute girl had been in class today, the one day she had fucked up, what were the chances?

The door burst open, a giggling Aramis walking backwards as he dragged a smirking Athos by the tie.

They stopped dead when Athos noticed her.

Flea barely knew them, today was the first day she had finally met Porthos' boyfriends, and so it was all she could do not to scream at them to fuck off.

It was Aramis who asked worriedly, "Are you—?"

"Can you just get Porthos, please?"

Athos nodded, and when Aramis looked ready to stay and fuss, dragged him out of the room, much to her pathetic gratitude.

Fuck, she was such a mess. It was only a bloody pot, but she was normally so good and today had just been so full of distractions. Porthos being adorable was bad enough, but apparently Athos knew the cute girl, too, and was really good at making her laugh.

Ninon's laugh was like the ringing of champagne flutes, soft and ethereal, like her…

Such a fucking mess.

Only twenty seconds could have passed before the door opened again, and Flea raised her arms for a hug from her best friend.

It wasn't Porthos.

It was Ninon.

Flea's eyes widened and then she swiped angrily at them, hating herself for crying, for looking like  _more_ of a twat on a day that she had been fairly certain couldn't get any worse.

Oh, how it had.

"I'm fine," she bit out before Ninon could say anything, wishing she would just leave so she couldn't see what an absolute state she was in. There was clay drying on her jeans and her eyes were red and just  _fuck everything._

"You look it," Ninon commented off-handedly, and Flea glared at her. "Sorry, sorry. I saw Aramis whispering worriedly and then Athos pounced at me."

"Why did he ask you?"

"Well, he  _is_  one of my closest friends," Ninon said with a little smile, one that turned adorably shy when she added, "I might have mentioned you to him before."

"Me?" Flea asked numbly, tears forgotten.

Ninon nodded, fingers fiddling with her blonde hair, a curl gleaming gold against her delicate hands, the same ones that coaxed clay into works of art. "I said you had eyes as pretty and blue as Delftware."

Flea didn't know what to say to _pottery flirting_ , so she gestured at her monstrosity of a pot and muttered, "I hope you weren't saying that I was any good at this."

"I did, because you are – we all have off days, it doesn't mean what you make is worthless."

Flea frowned, still too distressed to want any sympathy, and because it was  _Ninon_  who had seen her looking like a wreck,  _Ninon_ who was too gorgeous for words and made Flea a stammering mess whenever they talked.

Irrational anger made her snap, "Don't tell me to keep it just 'cause I made it, that's fuckin' stupid."

Ninon raised an eyebrow and immediately Flea felt like a bitch, but Ninon just shrugged. "Throw it."

Flea blinked. "What?"

"Throw it, it'll make you feel better."

"Well— Where— Where do I throw it?"

"Anywhere."

Flea gazed around the room. "What if people step on the shards?"

Ninon tilted her head, amused at Flea's concern. "Then don't, I just thought it might help."

Flea looked at her curiously, at the hands propped onto lush hips, at the high ponytail that accentuated her slender neck. There was so much confidence in that svelte form, and yet she had smiled shyly at Flea. "Should I be worried 'bout you throwin' shit in class?"

Ninon smiled, clearly happy she wasn't moping anymore. "No, unless Athos keeps dribbling over Aramis, then I might throw a pen at his head."

"Yeah, might do the same to Porthos – seriously, those two."

Ninon's smile spiked, showing white little teeth. "You should see them when it's just the two of them, they're like big cats, switching between growling and purring at each other."

Flea wrinkled her nose. "Weird."

Ninon shrugged daintily. "Sometimes it's nice to sit in the driver's seat, sometimes it's nice to be driven."

Flea narrowed her eyes when Ninon smiled with an astonishing amount of mischief, and burst out laughing when Ninon winked. "You're terrible."

" _Enchanting_  is the word you're looking for.

"Yeah, that too," Flea admitted, and couldn't help her smile when Ninon beamed. "Adorable kinda works."

Ninon looked away for a second, her flush as pink as her lips. "Now you're just buttering me up."

"Is it workin'?"

"Yes."

By the time the boys showed up, Flea was laughing and Ninon was picking bits of clay out of Flea's hair, fingers smoothing across her cheekbone with an innocent, "There was clay there, I swear."

"And you had the gall to berate me earlier, Ninon," Athos murmured with a wry smile, and Ninon stuck her tongue out at him.

" _I_ wasn't on anyone's lap," Ninon replied snarkily, and added in an undertone for Flea's ears alone, "Yet."

When Flea snorted, Porthos grinned, evidently happy for her even as he teased, "What a crock." At their groans, he hooked Athos and Aramis around their waists. "Drink, boys and girls?"

Ninon held out her hand and Flea caught it, the nibbled polish on her fingers twining with Ninon's manicured ones. "Sure, but whoever passes out first 'as to take my pot."

It sat on Ninon's mantelpiece for a year, and Flea kept giving her flowers to put in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was so hard not to do the scene from 'Ghost', but let's be honest, it's Athos who's sat behind Aramis, Athos who's trying to keep Aramis' hands on the clay, Aramis who keeps making sexual noises as he shapes it, and Athos is fighting his smile until they finally finish and he spins Aramis around and... 
> 
> Your comments are like the water to my clay, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	16. The Sign of the Horns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 16 - _Celebrity/fan._
> 
> "On a horse, with a lance? That man is unbeatable."  
> Sorry it's late, just been stuck in a broken down car in the midsts of a fuck-off thunderstorm for two hours. Joy.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Athamis, Porthathos, OT3, such a cliché today, but why not indulge in an old favourite every now and again, even if I have no idea what I'm doing with it.

"Aramis, we're going to be late," Athos called up the stairs, his tone tired and his head tilted against the wall.

"Coming!" Aramis shouted back, for the fifth time that evening.

"You insisted I accompany you for this travesty of an event, and at this rate it will be over by the time we get there."

"Good, and it's not a travesty, it's a rock concert, with my  _favourite_ band, Athos. Lighten up, anyone would think you were 305."

"I feel it," Athos murmured, but he did raise an interested eyebrow when Aramis appeared wearing the tightest leather trousers that the world had ever seen, and eyeliner in cat-like flicks around his glittery eyes.

"You look it," Aramis teased as he tilted his head for a kiss, but hissed a laugh when Athos bit his lip. "Okay, maybe a little less. 205?"

Athos kissed the mark he had made and hummed. "Better."

Aramis beamed at him, and despite how reluctant Athos was to go out tonight – to a rock concert, no less – he couldn't help but smile back.

"Ready,  _mon chaton de la nuit?_ "

Aramis nodded, checking his appearance in the mirror one last time and tapping Athos on the nose when he rolled his eyes. "If you're going to misbehave you can stay home."

Athos scoffed slightly as they hailed a cab. "If I had known it was that easy then I would already be doing so." Aramis ignored him and settled against his chest, content to watch the world go by out of the car window. Athos rested his chin on perfectly coiffed curls and sighed. "Why do you even want me to come tonight? This is far more d'Artagnan's style than mine."

"D'Artagnan flushes when I dance with him."

Athos blinked. "You dance with d'Artagnan?"

He could see Aramis' mischievous smile in the window's reflection, and flicked his ear in fond reprimand – although he dreaded to think how much attention those two would get, d'Artagnan all too easily went along with Aramis' plans, especially when they involved drinking.

Something clinked against his finger, and slipped away when he patted it.

"Why are you wearing a fake earring?"

Aramis made an irritated noise. "Athos! That took me ages to put on."

"That doesn't answer my question," Athos murmured as he slotted the silver snake around the curve of Aramis' ear.

"It's rock'n'roll."

"Ah," was all Athos said, and smiled when Aramis gave him a withering look. "It  _does_  look good."

Aramis brightened, running his finger over his ear. "Do you think I should get a real one?"

"I didn't say that."

"You just said you liked them!"

"I said it looked  _good,_ not that I like them, nor anything to do with this supposed rock culture," Athos maintained adamantly, although he knew he would be eating his words, because Aramis in leather trousers and piercings was already giving him ideas for this evening.

Still, he didn't have to admit that just yet.

Aramis, however, gave him a sidelong glance and said, "We'll see."

They did, because no sooner had they reached the cursed place and had a few drinks between them, Athos was pushing Aramis along a hallway with the intent to bite that almost-pierced ear.

Aramis spun and pushed him against the wall, surprising Athos into obeying, and they shared hungry, sticky kisses as Athos swiped his fingers over warm leather.

They paused when Aramis whispered, "Let's find a room."

The noise Athos made was wholly undignified, his hesitation disappearing when Aramis panted prettily and pleaded,  _"Athos._ "

" _Bordel de merde_ ," dropped from Athos' lips even as he kissed Aramis', and he glanced up and down the hallway before taking Aramis' hand. They went down two before they encountered anyone, and then they were inundated – a fact not helped by Aramis whispering dirty things in French in his ear.

Finally the press lessened when they reached another hallway, but almost immediately they were stopped by a man with an overlarge leather jacket and a baseball cap with the band's logo on it.

"Woah, personnel only."

Athos lifted his chin, a sneer at his lips as he looked the man over, but the look rather failed when he was still holding Aramis' hand, Aramis who looked as if he had one thing on his mind.

"I'm a fan," Aramis announced happily, and nodded at Athos, "He picked me from the crowd."

For once, it seemed that Athos' refusal to entertain fashion worked in their favour, because the man looked Aramis up and down before rolling his eyes at Athos and saying, "Groupies, eh?"

Athos debated punching him, but Aramis dragged him into the hallway before he could.

Aramis was being very particular about what door he chose for some reason, and Athos was too busy looking over their shoulders to notice the sign on the final room.

Athos hadn't paid much attention to the stage, to the music, or to anything other than Aramis grinding against his front, but he had paid attention to who Aramis had on his desktop wallpapers when it wasn't the two of them.

It was the man whose head was tilted curiously at them, a roguish smile making the scar on his eyebrow pull tight under the lights. "You lost, boys?"

"Porthos," Aramis breathed, and Athos narrowed his eyes at his clever kitten. "I know it's the break, but I thought that maybe…"

Aramis had trailed off nervously, but only a monster could have denied that hopeful smile, and evidently Porthos wasn't one, because he laughed. "Drink?"

"Yes!" Aramis bounded over, towing Athos with him so that he could push Athos down next to Porthos and sit on his lap.

Athos let himself be pushed with a faint, disbelieving – but very impressed – smile. It wasn't often Aramis managed to get one over on him.

Aramis and Porthos chatted, Aramis burbling excitedly and Porthos telling him everything he wanted to know, from how he prepared for a concert to what he had for breakfast that morning.

When Porthos' eyes kept slipping to a silently amused Athos, Aramis stole one of the chains from Porthos' jeans and slipped off of Athos' lap to wander around the room – only to be watched by the two of them.

"Cheeky, ain't 'e?"

"You have no idea," Athos replied dryly, smirking at the wink Aramis gave him.

"You ain't a fan, are you?" Porthos asked, giving him his full attention, and Athos was alarmed to find that he was startlingly attractive.

It was those blasted piercings, they flashed in his ears and one through that scarred brow, and Athos' fingers itched to touch them, even to trace the swirling patterns that decorated his arms – the same ones that decorated his guitar.

Aramis was going to love this.

Athos cleared his throat. "I haven't listened to a single song."

Porthos grinned, and it was a challenging thing that swept him from head to toe. "You likely to change your mind?"

Athos paused, glancing at Aramis, and Porthos added, "You can stand in the wings, get a proper listen."

Athos frowned at that manipulative tactic, because he would do anything for Aramis, who would jump at the chance to be so close. "You haven't given me a choice."

From outside, two voices called for Porthos, and he finished his drink with a salacious grin. "S'always a choice, Athos, you're just always gonna say yes."

Athos gave a surprised laugh, but he accepted the large, warm hand that Porthos offered, and nodded when Aramis slipped into his arms and smiled shyly at Porthos.

Porthos' expression softened a little at that, but it grew wicked when Athos murmured, "Yes."

"See?"

Aramis looked interestedly between them, but as expected, squeaked excitedly when he realised where they were going to be standing, and sang along as they watched from the wings.

Athos hummed, sometimes, and wondered whether it was the depth of Aramis' adoration that had convinced him to agree, or whether it was because when they had been in that room, Porthos had been laid back, friendly – if a little cocky.

On stage, under the lights, with a guitar, Porthos was godly.

He wowed the crowd with a skill that impressed even Athos, he flirted with the front row and laughed with his bandmates, and when he stuck his tongue out Athos saw another flash of steel.

Aramis was against his front, rocking with the music, but he looked up when Athos laughed softly.

"Still don't like rock culture, or is that a drumstick in your pocket?"

Athos refused to dignify that with an answer, but Aramis snickered anyway, harder when Athos dragged his teeth over his fake piercing in silent threat. "Is this why you brought me, so you could flirt with your crush?"

At that moment, the band finished their set, and Porthos blew a kiss to the crowd, and then turned to blow two to them.

Athos was surprised to feel his cheeks warm, and Aramis' voice was ever-so sly. " _My_ crush?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's Charon and Flea, because c'maaaan, they'd make such a great rock band!
> 
> Your comments are like the chains to my jeans, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	17. Absolute Magnitude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 17 - _Doctor/companion._
> 
> AHH, so I tend to stay away from the really typical prompts (she says, having done a florist and celebrity AU in the past week), but this just really struck me - also, c'mon, you know you're dying to know who is going to be who in this.
> 
>  **TAGS:** OT3, terrible space jokes, I recently told a very hetero someone that I write slash fic and asked them for a title for this, and they said "worm holes," when I asked why, they said, "because penis-butts", perfect.

Aramis was pretty pleased with himself, he hadn't been in this bar for more than three seconds before scoping out a quiet-looking guy who smiled at his pick-up line.

"Hi, did you know that a face without freckles is like a night sky without stars?"

Aramis slid into the seat next to him as soon as he saw that amused eyebrow raise, even if it was followed with a murmured, "I do  _not_ have freckles."

Aramis let the point go without a fight, even though there were definitely some constellations hidden under those clothes – clothes that seemed slightly old fashioned, as if he had just been to a photo shoot from the early 1900s.

The waistcoat was slim-fitted, and a pocket-watch tinkled when Aramis let his gaze drop and caused the guy to straighten slightly.

When he finally met those bemused blue eyes again, Aramis ordered them a drink, and when it looked as if there was about to be a protestation, asked quickly, "Did it hurt?"

Those expressive lips opened and closed before twitching at the corners. "If you're going to say 'when I fell from heaven', I very much climbed out of hell."

Aramis smiled, slow and sure, confident he was getting somewhere with this. "I was going to ask if you fell from the stars actually, cold, beautiful…"

For some reason that made him laugh, his face lightening into something like surprise before Aramis received an impressed glance. "You're very forward."

"Would you have talked to me otherwise?"

The drinks arrived then, and with an acknowledging incline of scruffy head, he murmured, "Thank you"

"You're very welcome," Aramis purred, sliding a little further along in his seat so his knee sometimes brushed along those tailored suit trousers.

It was then that Aramis noticed the top hat on the floor. "Is that—?"

There was a commotion at the door and Aramis looked up to see a man in the exact same outfit, except his hat was askew, his shirt was untucked, and he looked a little debauched in comparison.

A scarred eyebrow lowered when he spotted them but he didn't even see Aramis, he was too busy grabbing Athos' drink and downing it. "The fuck, Athos, what're you doin' 'ere?"

"Ah, Porthos, you found me," Athos announced neutrally, eyeing his now empty glass with some frustration.

Aramis rose from his chair, completely uncaring that Porthos had a good few inches on him, and a lot more muscle, and a scar, and okay perhaps this wasn't a great idea.

Still, he had stood up now, and didn't want to look like a coward now that Athos looked at him in surprise.

"I bought that."

Porthos glanced at him and then did a double-take, eyes dropping to take him in, and Aramis fought the urge to flush. "Oh, sorry, let me just—" His hands pat at his jacket and then he looked at a smirking Athos. "Be a star, sweet?"

"Funny," Athos drawled, and ordered Aramis a drink with a casual finger wave at the barman. "It seems my driver is here, it was nice to meet you."

Porthos gave him a curious look but followed Athos out with a salute.

Aramis stared with the strangest feeling as if he was missing something important.

He chased after them, looking left and right before hearing Athos' quiet laugh from the closest alleyway when Porthos said, "He liked you, boyo."

He ran.

They turned as one, Porthos surprised and Athos… pleased.

Which was around the same time that Aramis noticed the big, blue telephone box behind them.

Porthos glanced at Athos, looking interestedly at whatever glimmered in those cold, beautiful eyes, and then tilted his head, "Huh. Can I show 'im?"

"Show me what?"

"Yes, yes, go ahead," Athos replied with put-upon weariness, but his gaze was still locked on Aramis, who was looking between them both and that odd-looking  _box._

Porthos gave a mischievous chuckle, his expression turning flirtatious. "You wanna see a spaceship?"

Aramis narrowed his eyes warily, but Athos – of all people – held out his hand as Porthos nudged open one blue door and stepped inside. "Come." Aramis took one halting step forward, bewitched by those eyes, encouraged by the almost smile, and then Athos' hand fell to the small of his back as he ushered him forwards.

"You'll see stars," Athos murmured right against Aramis' ear, his chest brushing Aramis' spine in a line of white heat.

Aramis was about to give him gyp for using one of his pickup lines on him, but stopped dead on the threshold, but with Athos at his back, there was nothing for him to do except stutter, "But, but, but—"

"I know,  _fascinating_  isn't it?" Athos' sarcasm was bored and biting, which made Aramis turn to gape at him, leeching away some of the bone-deep shock.

"How is this not the amazing thing you've ever seen?"

"Because I see it every day," Athos drawled, and from somewhere beyond a huge circular bay of computers came a snort.

"Why I picked you up that day, I dunno." Porthos returned sans hat and with two buttons of his shirt undone as he leaned on the railing to grin at them, his arms were bared to the rucked-up sleeves and his muscles were more than a little distracting – which was saying something, because, hello, spaceship.

"Porthos," Athos sighed, slipping past Aramis to throw his suit jacket over what looked like a giant string of coral, "you flirted with me for an entire evening and then disappeared in here without even locking the door behind you."

"Scared the shit outta me!"

"Yes, well, that didn't last long did it?" Athos' smirk was a small, dark little thing, and Porthos ducked his head with a laugh.

"Nah, you still scare me though."

"Good," Athos said simply, but smiled when Porthos did. "It seems it's a habit of mine, being flirted with before disappearing into a blue box." Aramis looked sharply at him but Porthos raised that scarred eyebrow.

"Oh yeah?"

"Indeed, with some very interesting techniques," Athos added, and looked at him with wry encouragement. "Go on."

Aramis bit his lip, earning two very heated looks, and instead of focusing on the impossibility around him, focused on Porthos.

"Did you steal the stars to put them in your eyes?" Aramis asked faintly, and thought he might swoon when Porthos grinned at him, or possibly because Athos was smiling and they were in an honest-to-God  _spaceship._

"I  _am_ a star, wanna taste the Milky Way?"

"You used that one on me," Athos commented dryly.

"Yeah, an' you loved it."

"It was passable."

Porthos rolled his eyes, laughing softly, and then drew them both up to the main platform with a wave of his hand. "C'mon, we've got places to be."

Aramis couldn't help himself from saying, "You mean  _times_  to be."

Athos sighed but Porthos pointed at him happily. "See, that's the quality content I want in my ship."

"Cheap attempts at humour?" Athos remarked, and when Aramis shot him a wounded expression, smiled slightly. "Time-travelling rather loses its allure."

Aramis let the jibe go as he stared in wonder about the room. "How can it? It's  _wonderful._ "

"Perhaps it's the company."

Porthos stepped around Athos to reach a lever and growled against his ear, prompting Athos to laugh, and once again Aramis was struck by the sight of it, by how relaxed he became, as if he belonged here, flitting about in time and space.

Athos seemed to remember Aramis was there and flushed slightly, this time making Porthos laugh, and Aramis smiled, finding it easier to focus, to  _believe,_ when he was standing between them, a bank of lit screens and a tube of light within touching distance. "It's a good thing that I'm here then, isn't it?"

Athos looked at him, with the eyes of a man who had become bored of the stars, and Aramis promised himself that he would make Athos love them again.

"Yes, I suppose it is," Athos murmured, and he inclined his head slightly, back towards the door, and Aramis worried that he was going to throw him out before he even had a chance to see if it was real, see if he could put the stars backs in those eyes, the same ones that glimmered in Porthos'. "Come, there's something you need to see."

Porthos' grin grew impossibly wider, as if he wasn't sure Athos would let him stay – which was an interesting thing to think, because wasn't it Porthos' ship? "Where to, love? End of the world?"

Aramis looked up in surprise at the morbidity of that, and Porthos winked. "S'Athos' favourite, took 'im there first."

"No," Athos said almost off-handedly, and when Aramis looked back to him, it was to find those cold, beautiful eyes smiling at him, and it felt like falling. "To the beginning."

With a whirring under his feet, Aramis took Athos' hand and stood at the opening door.

And saw stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't say Porthos picked Athos up _on Earth._ So, come on, who did you think would be who? Tell me, tell me! (And, yes, the coral's my favourite theme, because Ten is.)
> 
> Your comments are like the stars to my sky, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	18. Acting Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 18 - _"Two extras have to sit across from each other and pretend to converse at a restaurant on the set of a movie. but the fake conversation turns to real conversation and they are really into each other and the director calls cut because they are distracting from the actual characters who are supposed to be the ones making eyes and looking like they’re falling in love, not a couple of random extras."_
> 
> For [jasperslittlesister](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jasperslittlesister) who wanted Portamis, happy birthday, my dear!
> 
> **TAGS:** Portamis, I apparently have feels for Porthos being a godfather to Constagnan's baby and it's adorable, however this was a surprisingly difficult prompt.

"D'you think if I order somethin' stupid they'll just bring me what's in the script?"

Brown eyes flicked up at Porthos for the fifth time, but still it didn't prompt his cute co-worker to respond, too busy reading over the script to give Porthos anything more than a flash of those pretty eyes.

Porthos pretended he didn't mind and just stared at the blank menu again. "I really want a milkshake."

Not even a glance this time.

"Chocolate or strawberry, can't decide," he murmured, but his attention was locked across the table.

Brown eyes looked to the side cautiously, as if worried he was going to get told off. "Chocolate."

It was barely a breath, but it made Porthos grin victoriously. "Yeah?"

A hum, and then finally he looked up for Porthos to feast on the small, succulent smile. "Do you always act out during takes?"

"Camera's not rollin' yet, an' I'm only doin' my mate a favour."

"Oh, is that why Constance isn't here?"

"Wondered when you'd ask. She's on maternity, actually."

"No way!" A few people looked over and Porthos chuckled when those brown eyes turned worried and looked down. "Seriously?"

It was adorable, curiosity warring with his determination to be a good little extra, and Porthos loved it – as Constance had known he would. "Yeah, she'd probably kill me for tellin' you though, so you gotta act surprised."

Another smile was his reward for being trusting. "Of course, I'm Aramis."

"Porthos," he replied, as if he hadn't known his name, as if he hadn't already stalked him on Facebook and gone through Constance's pictures of the two of them.

Aramis – although he didn't know it – was Constance's latest attempt at setting up her  _third wheel of a friend_ , which was just rude, because Porthos was the one who had introduced her to d'Artagnan, and now they were shacked up and having kids.

So what if Porthos was already getting far too excited about being godfather, it was his right as their best friends – and he already had his eye on this tiny little onesie he'd seen in the shops.

It had puppy ears.

Just the thought of how grumpy it was going to make d'Artagnan was already making Porthos' year.

That was, of course, if Aramis didn't make it first.

"So, you're thinkin' chocolate?"

"You aren't really going to cause a scene are you?"

"Cause a scene in a scene?" Porthos joked, and shrugged, leaning back casually in his chair. "Yeah, thought I might, somethin' to do."

Aramis nibbled his lip in a way that immediately drew Porthos' attention. "What if they fire you?"

"Then I  _can_ go get my milkshake – seems like a good deal to me." Porthos waited, hoping Aramis would bite, but had to scowl when the scene was called and Aramis fell back into his acting role.

Porthos  _did_ know the lines, he had glanced over a spare script, he could probably make a go of it, but where was the fun in that?

When an actor came to take their order, their lips barely moving so as to not distract the stars of the show, Porthos cleared his throat and asked, "Hi, yeah, chocolate milkshake, shaken, not stirred."

The actor looked at him strangely but it wasn't that reaction Porthos was watching, it was Aramis', who was trying very hard not to laugh.

After being ignored by their supposed waiter, Aramis shot him a darkling look for almost making him corpse, but it turned into a flush when Porthos nudged their legs together under the table.

"Think I'd make a good Bond," Porthos said in a stage-whisper, and finally Aramis' gaze left Porthos', not to look around nervously, but to whisk down him and up again, a smile at his lips.

So quiet that Porthos almost didn't hear it, Aramis replied, "Does that make me the Bond girl?"

"Well, I know a guy who could be the villain," Porthos offered, and was promptly hushed by the other extras.

Aramis had that look someone gets when their friend gets caught out and they don't, and it made Porthos raise an eyebrow challengingly. "Somethin' funny?"

"No, no," Aramis murmured, smile widening, but there was definitely another foot nudging against his own now.

The waiter returned with two glasses of water and Porthos stared at them morosely. "Water, seriously? What's the budget on this, a fiver?"

Aramis snorted, sipping at his water with all the decorum of someone drinking champagne. "Welcome to the world of acting."

"Think I'll pass, thanks," Porthos muttered when a bowl of something unpalatable landed in front of him, courtesy of their now-scowling waiter. "Grumpy fucker, eh?"

Apparently that was the last straw, the director called cut and loudly asked who was talking. Porthos innocently stared at his hands as Aramis did a very good job of looking confused – adorably so. A few people looked their way but most of them kept their heads down.

Porthos waited for the second the clapperboard sounded and then he leaned forward on his forearms, one hand reaching for Aramis'. "C'mon, let's blow this joint."

Aramis raised an eyebrow, but his fingers did curl against his. "You know you aren't  _actually_ James Bond, right?"

"I might be, you won't know 'til you find out," Porthos said, pitching his voice low and his smile lewd.

Aramis had to look away when he wanted to laugh, but when he looked back, there was interest there.

"Please? You can be the star in my show."

The director yelled for cut and three people pointed their way. Porthos was about to defend himself when Aramis pulled at his hand and they ran for the door, giggling like kids.

"They're never going to let you back in!" Aramis said breathlessly, laughing against Porthos' chest once they made it outside.

"I was never  _let_ in," Porthos announced slyly, and Aramis gave him a surprised look before it settled into a pleased smile.

"Come on then, Mr Bond, you're buying the milkshakes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time constraints are a bitch.
> 
> Your comments are like the milk to my shakes, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	19. I'm Only Scary 'Cause I'm Hairy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 19 - _"This is totally awkward considering before this the only interactions we’ve ever had have been casual nods to each other in the hallway but there’s a huge fucking spider in my bath tub and you seem like the friendly neighbour type please help me."_
> 
> A spider in the bath, a spider in the bath, a creepy crawly, creepy crawly spider in the bath. I know he's only there because he wants to have a laugh. I thought I put him down the drain but now he's climbing up the chain! Spider in the bath!
> 
>  **TAGS:** Constagnan, because apparently I haven't done one yet, I have been both d'Artagnan and Constance in this situation, except I squished that fucker with the force of a thousand suns, and greatly enjoyed the terrified squeak of the guy I saved.

Constance had barely taken her keys out of her bag when she heard a crash behind the closest door, followed by a very scared-sounding yelp.

Hesitating on the landing, she debated knocking on the door to see if they needed any help or whether that took  _Neighbourhood Watch_ to a rather creepy level.

The door was suddenly flung open, and Constance recognised the same adorably flustered look that she received whenever she nodded at the new tenant.

It took her a moment to recognise that he was naked but for a towel clutched to his hips that was doing a very bad job of staying there.

It had been a long day, and it was like she had just taken three shots of espresso.

There was a cut off shout of, "Porth— Oh, fuck." The fluster turned to a flinch. "Shit, sorry, ah, um."

Constance cut him off before he could dig himself any further into the hole he was making – although she was a little endeared by his attempts to not swear in front of her. "Are you okay?"

One hand left that precariously hanging towel to push through his hair, drawing it back from a painfully young face that flushed brighter than the red lipstick she was rocking today. "Yeah, I, uh, need Porthos."

Constance raised an eyebrow and felt a bit guilty when he bit his lip and looked away. It was also completely charming. "It's Sunday, Porthos is at his boyfriend's."

She might have left him to his clear desire of smacking his head repeatedly against a wall, but then he glanced over his shoulder nervously. "Can I help?"

"What? No, uh, it's fine. I can deal with it."

Constance frowned, but she didn't want to impose – and to be fair, she was having a little difficulty concentrating when he kept fiddling with his fringe.

It fell like a waterfall of ebony over those exotic eyes.

"If you're sure…" When he nodded profusely, she talked herself into turning, before hesitating and saying, "I'm Constance, by the way, I'm in the flat above yours."

It earned her a nervous smile, another tug of those black strands. "D'Artagnan."

Constance gave him a firm nod, wondering why she had introduced herself when he was clearly desperate to escape her.

Porthos was wrong, she came on far too strong, it kept scaring people off.

Not that she could  _tell_ him, or she would never hear the end of it the next time they met up for dinner at Athos'.

It was Aramis who had suggested the lipstick, but even that hadn't done the job. She sighed as she dropped everything by the door and went in search of orange juice.

There was a knock before she could get there.

Constance opened her door and was hit afresh by d'Artagnan's anxious smile – and all that gorgeous caramel skin – before it devolved into unease.

"Okay, no, I need your help."

Constance firmed as she grabbed her keys from their hook, mentally calculating how long it might take the police to get here if d'Artagnan was in serious trouble. "What is it?"

D'Artagnan had already started downstairs, that towel slipping with every step. "There's a huge spider in my bath."

Constance froze with a confused frown at d'Artagnan's back – which looked as silky smooth as the rest of him. "What?"

Any confidence he might have gained from getting Constance on side suddenly disappeared as he nibbled that full lower lip. "It's  _really_ big?"

Constance relaxed, laughing with a shake of her head. "Lead the way."

D'Artagnan did so, all his shyness disappearing now that they were on a mission, and peered over her shoulder when they reached the bathroom.

The spider stared back, all two inches of it.

"Can you get me a cup?"

D'Artagnan gave her a strange look but ran off to comply, passing it over only to then exclaim, "What are you doing?!"

Constance continued carefully scooping the spider up and murmured, "There we go, you little rascal." When d'Artagnan continued to stare, open-mouthed at her, she asked, "If you wanted to kill it, why didn't you just fill the bath?"

D'Artagnan gave her an affronted look which was ridiculously endearing when he was standing completely defenceless in only a towel. "I didn't want to  _drown_ him, I just wanted it to be quick."

Constance tilted her head in surprised amusement, reluctantly touched by that warped form of mercy, but had to laugh when she removed her hand from the cup and d'Artagnan backed out of the room. "He's not going to hurt you."

D'Artagnan shook his head distrustfully. "He's hairy!"

Constance just raised an eyebrow and forced herself not to let her gaze follow that dark treasure trail past taut, tan stomach and lean hips. "Imagine how  _he_ feels with you stomping around completely naked."

Which was an image in itself, but when she tipped the cup to show d'Artagnan how safe he was that she saw just how it would look.

She managed to close her eyes in time and was quite proud of herself for doing so.

"Sorry, sorry," he squeaked, which was a word she was beginning to associate with him, and peeked through one eye to see d'Artagnan's hand covering his flushed face.

Poor thing – d'Artagnan, not the spider. "Can I put him outside?"

D'Artagnan gave the cup a very distrustful glare, making Constance smile, but finally he nodded with a muttered, "You're lucky Constance was here to save you."

Constance couldn't help but find him adorable as she headed for the biggest window, bypassing d'Artagnan's messy bed – and pretending not to see him hide his boxers – as she tipped the cup upside down and watched the spider scuttle off into the night.

D'Artagnan heaved a relieved sigh when she turned around, his head tilting to the side as he said abashedly, "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

It seemed to suddenly hit him that he was still only wearing a towel because those wide eyes looked down at himself before closing briefly. "Um, you're in my bedroom…"

"I've seen you naked, you can't be shy now," she teased, and d'Artagnan rubbed his fingers against his forehead as he wrinkled his nose with a smile.

"Great first impression," he said sarcastically, and it was Constance's turn to nibble her lip.

"I thought it was pretty spectacular."

Constance had to look away when d'Artagnan looked up in surprise that finally turned to the cheekiness she knew had to be hiding under the fluster.

"I'll leave you to your shower," she managed, and wished she hadn't put the image in her head.

He nodded almost haltingly, one hand returning to his hair, before blurting, "I'm ordering pizza later, do you want some? Y'know, for saving my life."

Constance let her pleased smile answer for her, but then added seriously, "I'm getting changed into my pyjamas though."

It wasn't like they could stand on ceremony now, and to be honest, she didn't want to. With Porthos away most nights lately, it would be nice to have someone to watch television with.

She wondered whether d'Artagnan was cuddly or not.

"Oh, yeah, of course." D'Artagnan stuck his lip out in thought as he said distractedly, "I think I have something that isn't jeans somewhere…"

The thought of d'Artagnan wearing nothing but a pair of jeans was a little too much for her overworked brain to bear, so she announced brightly, "I'll bring a blanket."

That didn't help.

Constance abandoned all hope – indeed, she had from the moment d'Artagnan had opened the door – and went to leave.

"Wait, um, can I have your number?"

Constance stopped but her smile was confused. "I live upstairs."

"Yesss." D'Artagnan stretched the word out, clearly trying to think of a reason and flushing all the while, "but the spider might get between me and the door next time."

Constance tried to purse her lips but failed and read off her number instead, pausing for the slightest of seconds when she heard d'Artagnan's shower start as she walked upstairs.

After hearing her phone buzz and clad in her comfiest pyjamas, d'Artagnan opened the door in nothing but a pair of jeans and an apologetic expression. "Sorry, I couldn't find anything else."

 _Don't apologise_ , was on the tip of Constance's tongue – as she wished were a great many more things – but she bit it when they walked into the kitchen and she saw a pair of sweatpants over a chair.

She bit it when d'Artagnan ordered mushrooms on their pizza and started absent-mindedly opening his mouth every time she passed him some.

She bit it when he fell on the sofa after clearing their plates and ended up leaning against her shoulder, her small smile matching his.

She bit  _him_ when he abruptly turned to kiss her. "Stop apologising or I will find another spider."

"You're much scarier," he teased, and when she kissed him, added thoughtfully, "Will I find you in my bath, too?"

She bit him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've a horrible feeling that the spider's still there! He's hiding in the bathroom but I don't know where. But bath time's over now so I don't care! (Dun dun dun dun, **dun dun dun dun!** (Spiders, blech!)
> 
> Your comments are like the TV shows to my childhood, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	20. Birthdays that Go Bump in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 20 - _Paranormal Idea 2._
> 
> Okay, so I had an idea for this but one of my dearest anons requested some smutty OT3 so I had to jump the timeline a bit. There _is_ actually 3k of a sequel which explains what everyone is and why, their physical descriptions and what they can do, but it will have to wait until after the challenge. For now, enjoy trying to figure it out, and feel free to guess!
> 
>  **TAGS:** OT3, the usual paranormal warnings apply, blood and vampires and shit, 'ware your crucifixes, tempted to add another 500 tomorrow 'cause I ran out of time, thoughts?

"Could you look any more like a fuckin' vampire?"

Athos looked down at himself a little critically, finding his penchant for black more of a blind choice than anything else – besides, it helped to hide the blood. "Yes."

Porthos rolled his eyes, and did so again when Aramis purred, "I like it."

Athos smiled smugly when Aramis slotted against his front as if he was made to be there – which Athos was starting to believe he was. "Appreciation will be rewarded."

Aramis snickered when Porthos made an irritated noise that was only half put on. "Why the fuck are  _you_ gettin' appreciated? It's  _my_ birthday!"

"So it is," Athos murmured, and winced when Aramis latched onto his collarbone with a wet little suck. It sent waves of heat through his body – not unlike the fresh blood currently trying to acclimatise in his veins. "As the only vampire here,  _chaton,_  I think it's my duty to tell you to  _stop biting me._ "

Aramis sucked harder, making Athos inhale sharply, and only let go to give Athos a heated look somewhere between hungry and satiated. "You fed, you're practically brimming, I can't help it."

Porthos raised an interested eyebrow, leaning against the wall to enjoy the show and not help Athos in the slightest. "Got a busy evenin' planned, 'ave we?"

"It's a special occasion," Athos said through gritted teeth when Aramis laved his tongue against the indentations his teeth had made. The borrowed blood surged where Aramis willed it, a far better master at it than Athos was – and he'd had centuries to learn, Aramis was simply born with the skill of bodies.

It wasn't strictly vampirism, though it stole life essence all the same. No, Aramis was something much more  _lively._

Aramis made a mark on the other side, his fingers tilting Athos' jaw to when he tried to snarl – and forgetting to when he felt those blunt teeth against his skin.

It was surprising how in-tune one could get in a century.

"I think s'funny how 'e pretends not to like it," Porthos added, grinning widely when Athos glared.

"It has no benefit—" Athos was cut off by Porthos' thumb pressing into the mark Aramis had made, and a different kind of heat made him shiver, made him look at Porthos with lidded eyes and bare his teeth in a hiss.

It earned him a harder nudge, one that pushed at the bruised muscle beneath and sent it quivering, as Porthos knew it would, as Athos tried to hate.

"You're always so grumpy after a feed," Porthos mused, the huskiness in his voice belying the idle interest. "You'd think you'd be all lazy an' happy, like Aramis."

Athos tried his best to scowl when all his eyes wanted to do was flutter closed. "You forget that  _I_ am the one in control when I feed."

Porthos came in closer, crowding Aramis against Athos' chest, his thumb an ever-present reminder against Athos' swiftly heating skin. "Yeah, an' now you're not. Deal with it."

Athos' lip quivered into a snarl but instead it parted on a strangled moan when Aramis pressed himself against one of his thighs and rocked, his mouth already reddened and full when he looked up to say, "Stop talking."

Aramis' eyes were glassy, and it gave Athos pause – even when the overwhelming urge to bare Aramis' throat tickled his senses. "Are you drunk?"

Porthos gently turned Aramis around, earning a slightly sloppy kiss, and chuckled, "You weren't kiddin' when you said you'd eaten."

Athos smiled slightly, automatically lifting his chin when Aramis returned his attention there. "It  _is_ your birthday."

Porthos' grin was at once anticipatory and fond as his fingers slipped to the back of Athos' neck, the furore of before fading for a moment. "Ain't we a bit old for this?"

"Nonsense," Athos murmured, shifting the arm around Aramis' waist to hold his wriggling form more firmly against him, and using his other to curl his fingers into Porthos' shirt. "It is a celebration of you, after all."

Porthos obeyed the pull – which was about as surprising as when Athos did it – and their mouths met in a slow but forceful tangling of tongues. "Of us."

Athos nipped his lip, deliberately catching it with one his canines so it stung. "Obviously."

Porthos licked the hurt with a snort, eyeing Athos up and down and focusing wholly on his toothy smile. "That's how it's gonna be?"

Aramis was starting to rut against his leg, so Athos went for the kill. "What, you thought your gift would be  _me_ on  _my_ knees?"

Porthos raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "Uh, yeah?"

Athos tutted low under his breath, relishing the dark dominance that flashed across Porthos' face, and let him go to lift Aramis' chin with one demanding finger. Aramis' relieved sigh when Athos sucked on his tongue was high and shaky, the faintest glow already beginning to shine in his cinnamon curls.

Porthos' growl went ignored, but it suddenly cut off when Aramis' whining did, and Porthos watched with a guttural groan when Athos went to his knees with his fingers hooked in the loops of Aramis' jeans.

Aramis' hands went immediately to Athos' head, and after biting an index finger that scratched too hard, Athos murmured a thank you when Porthos caught Aramis' wrists and held them behind his back.

Of course, it also meant Porthos had a clear view – and he only needed one hand to hold Aramis steady, even as he whispered words in languages of old and Porthos echoed them, his eyes wide open where Aramis' were squeezed shut.

"Wait your turn,  _mon coeur_ ," Athos murmured, being exceptionally careful of that throbbing vein that sang such sweet little songs to his ears alone. Porthos' lips parted but only to lick them, to swallow loudly, and Athos looked up at him with an evil smirk. "If you can."

Porthos couldn't, but the night was still young, and so were they in the grand scheme of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From ghoulies and ghosties / And long-leggedy beasties / And things that go bump in the night, / Good Lord, deliver us!
> 
> Your comments are like the bites to my bruises, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	21. Eyes That Last I Saw In Tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 21 - _bffs when they were little but one moved away and they run into each other again._
> 
> Sonder - n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own. 
> 
> **TAGS:** Athamis, established Porthathos, surprisingly feelsy, not sure where this came from.

Aramis thought there were few things better in life than people watching, especially with a coffee in hand and a window to lounge by.

He saw so many stories and might never know any of them, not the stories, not the people, not anything; destined to sit in his chair and wonder at it all.

Wonder when he would have his own story to tell, or whether he had already fluffed the ending.

Aramis stiffened when someone walked past his window, a scruffy head and facial hair that seemed glared into submission rather than shaved. There was something about his stride, determined, unyielding, like a man who had gone down the rabbit-hole and come back knowing he was bigger than what the world had given him.

Aramis watched, unblinking, when the man's head ducked to read his phone, and he could almost hear the agitated sigh that preceded him entering the coffee shop.

Aramis shifted in his chair, leaning over an arm to get a better view of the man's face, to see what colour his eyes were, the twist of his mouth, the frown on his brow.

It wasn't until he was leaving that Aramis felt a name drop from his lips. "Athos."

If it had been a shout, it might have been a fluke, but it was almost a whisper, silent in its surprise, but those eternity eyes went straight to Aramis' wide ones.

"Yes?"

Aramis laughed, airy and astonished, as he recognised that same frown – so much older and colder now – but it was the same frown Aramis had smoothed with his fingers so many years ago.

It was an effort not to raise them, an effort not to imagine the pages of his life's story flicking back to the beginning, a chance to begin anew, a chance to finally finish his story.

"It's me, Aramis." Athos gave him a blank look, and Aramis winced. "René."

It echoed from Athos' mouth and Aramis wanted to roll himself in the sound of it, soft and secretive and  _his,_  when it had only brought him discomfort elsewhere.

Athos said his name like it was a claim, like he had missed it, missed  _him,_ and Aramis wanted to hear it again and again, hear his new one in the voice that had deepened so beautifully.

"Are you—?"

"When—?"

They both broke off at the same time, Aramis to laugh sheepishly and Athos to smile, just the barest curve of a thing.

It was hard not to stare at him, not to map the places he had changed, the places he hadn't – and there were more of those. Even as a child Athos had the bearing of an adult, a weight too heavy on his shoulders. A weight that seemed lessened, Aramis noticed, for all Athos' smiles had been rare, they hadn't had the hint of happiness in them like this one.

It seemed those smiles weren't just for him anymore, and the pages of his book turned stiffly back to the end.

"Sit, please, it's been…" Aramis trailed off, knowing just how long, because it was marked by the memorial of death that Aramis felt every year.

"Fourteen years," Athos supplied with his usual nonchalance, but Aramis saw the shadows flicker across his face – less than they were though, lessened by something that enabled him to smile.

It was all Aramis could do not to reach for Athos' hand and tell himself he was real, but Athos had always hated contact, even before everything had happened. After had just been worse.

After, Aramis had left.

Aramis had returned home at the worst possible time and had been too young to stop it, too young to take advantage of today's technology. Aramis had left an Athos who was dark, who never smiled, who didn't touch.

Aramis stared at the knee that brushed against his and found it difficult to swallow all of a sudden. "You've changed," he said oddly, and Athos' smile was confused.

"So have you, in fact, I hardly recognised you – apart from the smile, and the curls," Athos added with a smirk, and it was so  _easy_.

Aramis shook his head, marvelling at the way Aramis nudged their legs closer together and Athos simply  _smiled._

"You're happier," Aramis said finally, and realised that it was guilt weighing on his heart, fourteen years of guilt for a boy he had abandoned when he needed him most.

Of all things, Athos scoffed slightly, looking away for a moment to murmur, "I should hope so."

"No, of course, I'm glad, it's just…" Aramis scrambled to explain himself, but couldn't, couldn't tell Athos that despite all of the guilt and all of the time that had passed…

Aramis had thought it himself that would cause Athos' happiness.

It was selfish to think such a thing, selfish to feel even a shred of disappointment that Athos had moved on with his life whereas Aramis had spent his years thinking about it.

He had moved back here, after all, with some vain hope of seeing Athos again.

Doing so hurt more than it healed.

"So, what's been happening?" Aramis asked lamely, and wondered if he was as easy to read as he hoped he wasn't.

Athos sank into his chair, his mouth a moue of thought. "I was away myself for a bit, fortunately my partner teaches so—"

"You're  _married_?" Aramis blurted out, feeling his stomach open like a trapdoor.

Athos raised an eyebrow, wiggling the fingers around his coffee cup. There was a band on his ring finger, something shiny and sparsely decorated, something that looked like it was designed with another one in mind, and Aramis' heart broke as his book slammed shut.

The ring was beautiful, like Athos and his new smiles.

"For a year now," Athos mused, his mouth kicking up at one corner as he rubbed a thumb over the metal. "It still feels strange to say."

"It's stranger to hear it," Aramis said, and knew his laugh was ten kinds of nervous and twenty kinds of surprised.

Athos watched him panic, watched him try to get himself under control, and said almost hesitantly, "He's meeting me here."

_He._

Aramis felt his mouth dry, felt his heartrate pick up, felt his fingers go clammy as he shook his head. "I can't stay, I have to— I can't—"

_I can't see you with somebody else._

Aramis stood, his coffee forgotten in his desperation to stop the irrational prickling in his eyes. As he reached for his jacket, Athos' hand landed on his arm, and Aramis looked into eyes he had thought he had known better than his own. "Aramis."

There was such  _vulnerability_ there that hadn't been on the street outside.

"Please."

There was nothing Aramis could do except sit back down, staring in disbelief at the man who had turned him into a stumbling boy all over again, at the man who once again held his heart and not let it go.

Aramis almost didn't notice the figure that approached their table, but he did hear the fond, "Alright, love?"

He saw the ring first, a thicker version of Athos' but slightly more decorated, as stark and gorgeous as the man that wore it – the man that had given Athos his happiness back.

Athos looked up, and the smallest, softest smile curved his lips, making Aramis want to turn away from the world forever at the incandescent  _happiness_ in it. "Porthos,  _mon coeur_ , this is Aramis."

Porthos' eyes widened as he fell into the opposite chair, their fingers untangling at the last possible moment. "No way, seriously?"

Aramis was certain his smile was miserable. "Why are you surprised?"

Porthos glanced at Athos then, at the return of that surprising vulnerability, at a question that Aramis couldn't read  _but Porthos could._

Aramis fought not to cry.

"Feel like I know you, Athos always said you were 'is first love," Porthos said so casually that Aramis almost didn't listen. "An' he never stopped lovin' you."

Aramis almost choked, and the first thing that came to his head was that this was some cruel prank, but Athos' eyes closed with pained slowness, opening only to give a tight smile at Porthos. "That was  _not_ what I wanted you to say."

" _You_ tell 'im then," Porthos teased, and he gave Aramis an encouraging grin – probably because his jaw had dropped and his life's story was fluttering madly from cover to cover.

Athos muttered something under his breath and Aramis couldn't take the pressure. "Tell me what?"

"I looked for you for as long as I could," Athos said plainly, but his fingers landed almost hesitantly on top of Aramis', as if worried he would pull back.

Aramis did, but only to rub a shaking thumb over the frown in Athos' brow, and he gave a pitiful little smile at Porthos' chuckle before watching those eternity eyes watch him again. "When did you stop?"

Athos cupped Aramis' hand against his cheek. "Ten minutes ago."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evidently I have been staring for far too long at Jay Hutton's eyes because they truly are eternity.
> 
> Your comments are like the cream to my coffee, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	22. Cover Charge Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 22 - _“I really didn’t want to come out to this bar/club/coffee place but hey the scenery is nice.”_
> 
> Hey, I made this prompt up... and it was a biiiiitch.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Athamis, established Portamis, OT3 (when isn't it, these days?) flirting and feeling sick - two things that really don't go together, but hey, true love, eh?

Athos was very aware that he was sneering. It was a only a slight one, the barest lift of his lip, but his sense of condescension was so palpable that people had begun moving out of his way.

Ninon swiftly filled it.

"Cheer up,  _carissimus_ , the bouncers are already eyeing you."

Athos gave his closest friend an unimpressed look, raising an eyebrow when she wiggled her bright skirt a little higher up her hips. "One of the most insufferable things in the world is someone telling you to  _cheer up,_ you know that, don't you?"

" _You_ are one of the most insufferable things in the world," Ninon quipped, and pushed a drink into his hand when he would have snarled at her. "I have every intention of going home with someone tonight, and it isn't you, so start smiling."

"I don't smile, and I don't need to go home with someone," Athos muttered, casting a baleful eye over the heaving room. "Your concern for my well-being is truly admirable."

"I know," Ninon replied distractedly, already smiling at a blonde who was looking her up and down.

"I didn't even want to come out," Athos added, but Ninon was already lost to a crooked smile and mischievous blue eyes.

Athos finished his drink with a sigh, wondering whether Ninon would even notice if he left. It wasn't that he didn't necessarily enjoy himself – although the state of modern music was abysmal – but he failed to believe that he would meet anyone in a club.

Athos almost stumbled when someone fell against him, but he automatically steadied them, his arm catching on slight shoulders and a hand that pressed against Athos' chest.

"Whoops, sorry," they said with a smile that shone through the dim lights, one that widened as their slender fingers didn't leave Athos' front. "May I have the name of my hero?"

Athos scoffed, propping the unsteady length of him onto his feet and pretending not to notice the softness of his sheer shirt – or the way it fell open at the collar to reveal a crucifix amidst dark curls.

A crucifix, when those lidded eyes looked at him with such sin in mind.

"Athos," he replied, a little dry-mouthed.

"Aramis, and I think I  _fell_ for you, Athos," Aramis snickered, and then hooked a finger in Athos' shirt buttons. "Dance with me," Aramis demanded, and Athos laughed in surprise.

"I don't—" Athos was cut off when Aramis twisted to arch against his front, rendering him speechless for the better part of a minute. If there was a rhythm to the music, Athos was deaf to it, because all he was aware of was Aramis, Aramis' rhythm, Aramis' fingers when they reached back over his shoulder and cupped the back of Athos' head.

Athos followed the tug – how could he not? – and smiled breathlessly against Aramis' neck, his hands settling on Aramis' waist in some vain effort to hold onto sanity when he actually held onto sin.

Athos forgot to leave, forgot that he didn't dance, forgot that he hated rum, because of Aramis, because Aramis didn't let him go, because Aramis swayed so seductively, because Aramis tasted of sweet syrup and splendour.

He might have even muttered it into the shell of Aramis' ear, like some love-drunk teenager, and Aramis licked at his skin and purred like a content cat.

Ninon gave him a bawdy wink as she passed, and Flea meowed loudly when Aramis ignored them to nibble on Athos' jaw.

"Oh, my God," Aramis slurred, "you know Flea? She's one of my best friends!"

"Is that so?" Athos asked, more out of an amused desire to humour him when he was acutely aware of how much of a lightweight Aramis was.

Aramis nodded with his eyes closed. "Yep, she's Porthos' best friend."

Athos paused, but Aramis kept up with his little nips until Athos asked, "Who's Porthos?"

Aramis' mouth opened in a little 'o' before he drunkenly covered his mouth with his fingers. "I don't know?"

Athos raised an eyebrow, his smile a wry twist. "Are you sure?"

Aramis' other hand came up to cover Athos' chin, before correcting and swiping over his lips. "Shh!"

Aramis suddenly paused, an adorable frown creasing his brow, but then Athos' reluctantly endeared smile faded at the tinge to Aramis' face. "Are you going to be sick?"

Aramis nodded pitifully and came when Athos pulled him closer, whining softly as Athos led him to the toilets.

There was a bizarre sense of protectiveness that had Athos snarling at the attendants when they tried to stop them entering a stall together and Aramis' lip started to quiver.

Athos hushed him, and petted him, and did all the things he usually did for Ninon when she crawled into bed with him after a busy night out, because Aramis kept saying he was so sorry, his slender frame shaking as Athos held his hair back.

Ninon would find this adorable – and then she'd take a picture and post it everywhere.

There was a buzzing against his leg, and it took a moment of Aramis trying to climb into his lap for Athos to work the phone out of Aramis' insanely skinny jeans.

 _So,_ Athos thought as he glanced at the glowing screen, a picture of Aramis kissing the cheek of someone with an infectiously bright grin,  _this is Porthos._

"How's the night goin', sweet?"

He had a nice voice, pleasant, slightly husky, and the sound of it made Aramis sigh softly.

"This is Athos, Aramis is—"

"Who the fuck are you?"

Athos' brow lowered at that confrontational tone, but Aramis mumbled Porthos' name against Athos' neck so he gave him the benefit of the doubt. "If you'll give me a moment, I'll tell you. Aramis is fine, he's just drunk."

"Oh, sorry, s'just my mate called to say she was goin' 'ome and couldn't find 'im."

"Ninon moves fast," Athos murmured, slightly impressed. "He's… in the toilet."

"You with 'im?"

Athos hesitated, unsure whether to admit it when he heard the affection in that tone.

"I'm guessin' he's attached to your neck, right now?"

Aramis was currently mouthing at the skin of his collarbone so Athos just cleared his throat and muttered, "Something like that."

"Jus' be careful, 'e likes to bite."

"Bite—?" Teeth dug into Athos' shoulder and he could barely stifle the aroused noise he made, one that tapered into a soft gasp when Aramis licked at the heating mark.

Porthos chuckled down the phone, "Yeah, that's the one." Athos was too busy trying to angle Aramis' sinful mouth away from his neck to wonder why Porthos was so amused. "Listen, could you do me a favour?"

Which was how Athos found himself hailing a cab.

Aramis refused to put on his seatbelt, muttering something about Athos' arms keeping him safe – and really, how could he deny that? Aramis was warm and cuddly and  _really_ liked to use those teeth.

Porthos was waiting nervously by the time Athos had coaxed Aramis out of the cab with whispered words of encouragement that had the cabbie laughing.

Porthos sighed with relief when Aramis waved drunkenly at him, catching his hand but smiling at Athos. "Messy night?"

Athos had started to worry over Porthos' reaction, but the gratitude in those smiling eyes was undeniable, and Athos ducked his head slightly.

Aramis whined when Athos tried to pass him over to Porthos, his slack grip tightening around Athos' neck until Porthos was chuckling at Athos' aggrieved expression. "C'mon, you're gonna 'ave to bring 'im in, 'e's a cuddly shit."

They managed to prise Aramis onto the sofa, where he immediately curled into a ball and sighed sadly, just about breaking Athos' heart. There were curls falling over Aramis' forehead, and Athos pushed them back, surprisingly loath to leave him when he pushed into Athos' hand.

Porthos was watching him with a little smile.

Athos cleared his throat. "You should watch him, in case he chokes."

Porthos grinned, reading Athos' concern all too well. "Stay, help me with 'im? He'd wanna thank you."

Athos laughed quietly. "He wanted to do a lot more."

Porthos' smile turned roguish. "You should tell me 'em, wouldn't do for 'im to be in debt."

Athos tilted his head, a slight flush on his cheeks as he nodded. Their soft laughter roused Aramis, who looked between them both sleepily and sighed happily when they both sat down, talking quietly over his head.

Perhaps Athos was a little smug when Aramis curled up against his side, but the glitter in Porthos' good-natured scowl made him smirk, and the blunt fingers that quested against the back of his neck made it turn toothy.

"Well, Aramis  _did_ mention making me dinner."

Those fingers squeezed with a lethal little growl. "Don't push your luck."

When Aramis mumbled something about food, Porthos tweaked his ear and gave Athos a warning look. "S'not 'cause I like you."

Athos smiled slightly, and it widened when Aramis whispered, "He does."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe we're into the final third already? Crazy stuff.
> 
> Your comments are like the mats to my glasses, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	23. Yesterday You Said Tomorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 23 - _“I came to the gym to work out but holy god I can’t stop watching you do one armed push ups that’s so hot”_
> 
> A bit of a switch (ha) back-and-forth here in terms of prompt following.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Porthathos, flustered!Porthos for a change, a bit of amused Ninon for all of you absolute darlings who love her as much as I do.

Porthos had already spent an hour on the treadmill by the time he glanced at the clock on the gym's wall.

It was time.

Rapid beeps filled the air as he slowed his pace down, but his heartrate didn't follow, it stayed high and peaky, until Porthos was all nerves as he made his way over to the free weights.

They were right next to the window – not the one that looked outside, but the ones that looked onto the badminton courts.

The green rubber-type flooring was almost harsh on the eye, but the people on it weren't.

Well, one in particular wasn't.

Porthos picked up a dumbbell, the metal still shiny under his fingers a bonus for being up earlier than any sane person.

Of course, sane people probably didn't haunt the gym just to get an eyeful.

Well, perhaps they did, but there was never going to be any other time where he was likely to cross paths with this guy. They just moved in different circles.

Which was also why Porthos hadn't made a move yet, why he might never make one, because this guy was something else. A scowl that could bring down mountains and a dry wit that always left Porthos with his tongue tied, Athos was out of this world.

Athos had just been  _That Guy_ for ages, but the blonde he was always with tended to shout at him after a while – it was always when Athos' concentration seemed to waver, when those wicked plays started slowing, when his serves went way off.

Porthos didn't care, he just liked to watch, because Porthos could never move with that much skill, that much finesse – although he liked to think his glare could bring down mountains.

Porthos' arm was curling in fast, tight movements, but his thoughts drifted as the burn started to seep into his skin, the same burn that brought sweat to the surface, the same burn that flared far lower whenever he watched a tornado flit across the courts.

Right on schedule, the door opened, and Porthos' next breath came a little harder.

There he was.

Athos was slim, but strong, like a tennis player – and fuck everything if he didn't look delectable in those bright whites, a white band around his head to keep his hair back, the dusty brown of it darkening when he lunged for rallies.

Porthos couldn't hear them from here, the glass was thick and his breathing was heavy, but he saw them easily enough, even turned slightly so he could watch them properly.

This was the best part of his day.

The blonde chatted, but Athos was silent, his scowl more pronounced than usual as they stretched, and Porthos shook his head despairingly when he realised he wanted to ask why.

"Keep your appreciation to yourself, Porthos, there's a good lad," he muttered under his breath, and switched to a heavier weight in an attempt to distract himself.

It was hard – pun intended – when Athos smoothly shifted his weight from foot-to-foot, balancing on the balls of his feet as that delicate-looking racquet twisted in his fingers.

There was a moment, Porthos' favourite moment, where every single bit of restless energy just disappeared from Athos' form, and he focused, like a hunter on the trail or a shark in the water, as if a wave of concentration flowed through him and left him…

Breath-taking.

Athos moved like the wind, here and there and everywhere but without seeming dainty, he was just  _present_ , capable, and persistent.

Porthos absent-mindedly went through his workout, abandoning the free weights to switch to push-ups, until the push-ups were mostly  _up_ and not much  _down_ because he was just staring through the window.

Watching Athos was a fucking gift, he was viciously beautiful, the way a disaster was beautiful. Yeah, it will destroy everything and probably kill you, but it was bloody fascinating and you couldn't look away.

Athos made his first mistake far earlier than usual, and Porthos winced when he saw the silent snarl curl his lips.

Suddenly, Athos tore his headband off and threw it at the window.

Right at Porthos.

Porthos yelped, his arms almost giving way in surprise.

Athos stormed out of the room, and Porthos looked at the blonde – only to see that she was snickering and mouthed one single word.

_Run._

Fuck, what should he do? If he ran, he might meet Athos in the hallway, but if he stayed, he would find him here, and he'd be stuck.

Porthos panicked, snatched his towel, and ran, all the way to the locker rooms, panting heavily when he was hidden in one of the rows. Time to go. He just had to grab his stuff, he could get changed in the fucking car.

"You."

Porthos froze, and peeked past the open door of his locker to see Athos scowling at him.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

"Hey," he managed with a shamefully weak attempt at a smile.

That beautiful fucking scowl narrowed. "What are you doing?"

Porthos' hands were sweating, actually sweating, he was clammy all over. "Uhh… Leavin'?"

Athos didn't answer, but simply folded his arms and leaned against the wall, his damp hair in disarray without his headband.

Bloody hell, Porthos wanted to run his fingers through it and  _pull—_

"Two months you have watched us play, two months in that window with your insufferably repetitive workout regime and I won't stand for it anymore."

Porthos reeled, a fire in his cheeks as he realised he had been caught out, and muttered defensively, "S'not repetitive."

Athos raised an eyebrow, idly brandishing one hand – the other one still had the racquet it. "Dumbbells, barbells, sit-ups, those physically impossible one-armed push-ups which you seem to manage with bizarre ease—"

"Wait, you've been  _watchin'_ me?"

"Two months," was all Athos said, but Porthos had to wonder, was  _he_ the reason Athos got distracted, did  _he_ play on Athos' mind when he showered afterwards, just like Porthos thought of Athos and then came in a guiltily glorious rush?

"Yeah, okay, but in my defence, didn't think you could see."

Athos scoffed, that hand disappearing into the fold again, looking like the oncoming storm.

And Porthos wanted to be devoured by it.

"Is there a reason that you've been watching?"

Porthos blinked, and blurted, "What?"

"I want to know why you watch but if we ever cross paths you pretend I don't exist – I thought, at first, that it might be because it was Ninon you were watching."

Porthos chewed on his tongue and grasped for  _anything_ that might get him out of here without looking like a complete and utter tit. "What makes you think it ain't?"

That wave of focus slipped over Athos' skin, and Porthos felt like he was looking at a predator that had just tasted your fear – and found it delicious. "Because you ran."

Porthos swallowed, and knew he shouldn't have done when Athos' gaze dropped to watch his throat and the barest gleam of his teeth appeared between his lips. "Because you're thinking about running now."

Porthos tried to glare, he really did, but his heartbeat was hammering in his ears and he was desperately trying not to think about running. "I don't run."

"Oh?"

Athos took a step forward and Porthos could almost hear the 100-piece orchestra hamming it up as they prepared for his requiem.

Another step, and another, until Porthos was practically quivering in fear and arousal, and Athos' voice was a taunting whisper that made goosebumps explode over Porthos' skin. "It's just… you seem a little tense."

"Me? Nah," Porthos forced a nervous laugh out, but bit it off when Athos was within inches.

Athos was shorter than him but he  _felt_ bigger, more powerful, especially when those focused eyes whipped him from head to toe and left him a shaking wreck in their wake. "Why did you watch?"

"'Cause you're beautiful," Porthos breathed, and watched the shock smack Athos about the face.

"What?"

Porthos bit the bullet, he had to, because Athos was  _here,_ close enough to touch - and how he wanted to. "You make me think of hurricanes, dangerous an' deadly an' fuckin' divine."

There was one breath, two, and then Athos remarked a little huskily, "Hurricanes need warmth."

"Should've known you'd 'ave a fuckin' mouth on you," Porthos growled, but blinked when Athos gave him an unimpressed look.

"It was a hint," Athos murmured, "I've been wanting to use this  _fucking mouth_ on something else."

"Oh," was all Porthos managed before Athos lifted his chin and started kissing him, forceful things that had Porthos fighting back, a deliriously happy grin parting his lips. "Y'know, we should probably shower, have a, uh,  _rub down_?"

Porthos eyes snapped open when a cold line of plastic lashed against his leg, a soft, glorious burn in the racquet's place. "Do not make me use this."

"Time an' a place for everythin'," Porthos muttered into Athos' mouth, and his smile was sharp and beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could write a thesis on those "moments of focus" that sports-people have. My personal favourite is [Leigh Halfpenny](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/post/103297426033) of the Welsh Rugby Union, he goes to take the kick, all heaving chest and adrenaline, and then he just... Looks up, and he's calm, and it's breath-taking, it's my entire sexuality rn. (Someone's just reminded me that I've made a comparison to Athos [before](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/post/111581939728/do-any-of-you-remember-my-post-about-leigh), snicker.)
> 
> Your comments are like the ~~cock to my shuttle~~ burn to my workout, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	24. 'Allo Vera!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 24 - _Someone gets sunburn, bonus points for a tricky place that makes sex awkward._
> 
> Prompt credit: Scrabble!  
> I make the title joke at least eight times a summer, and so does Porthos.
> 
>  **TAGS:** OT3, two today because yesterday my neighbour was drilling through to Australia (at least I assume that's what the noise was) and so my whole day ended up being off-kilter.

Athos was hissing – which, in itself, wasn't unusual, but the long, red smudges that stretched across his back were.

As Porthos drew the curtains and made their front room a shady haven, Athos muttered, "Why didn't you check the bottle?"

Aramis hung his head. "I didn't know we had the transparent stuff any lower than forty!"

"S'the Pup's," Porthos said distractedly as he hunted for something. "He's as fussy as Athos when it comes to suntan lotion."

"It isn't fussiness," Athos bit out, "I just hate how sticky the creams are, if you're going to force me into the sun then I at least insist on being slightly less uncomfortable."

"Yeah, well, you ain't gonna be back in the sun for a long time if I 'ave anythin' to do with it," Porthos remarked, concern a tangible force in his words, and for once – mostly because it was what he wanted – Athos sighed contentedly.

"Good."

Which left Aramis as the bad guy.

"I'm sorry,  _mon cher_ ," he murmured, peeking guiltily at Athos from under his eyelashes.

Athos' frown softened and he lifted a hand, encouraging Aramis to sit on the sofa with him. Aramis almost thought he was in the clear – Athos' grudges were not a thing to be wished for – but then Porthos raised an eyebrow at him from across the room.

Aramis pouted. "I didn't do it on purpose!"

"That don't make this any easier on Athos," Porthos chided, and grunted dispassionately when Aramis fell in a sheepish heap at Athos' feet, his chin resting on Athos' knee in clear supplication.

" _C'est bien, chaton,_ " Athos murmured, resting a gentle finger on Aramis' small smile when it came.

"Stop forgivin' 'im so easily," Porthos growled, and when Athos looked at him in disbelief, added, "I 'ave learned a bit after all this time, y'know, an' even if I 'adn't, your tone is fuckin' obvious. You're such a sucker for 'is pout."

Athos sniffed haughtily, a faint flush on his cheeks. "Stop eavesdropping."

Porthos finally found what he was looking for and brandished the bottle with scowl. "Stop bein' such a mardy arse,  _I'm_ the one that's been lookin' for the aloe vera."

Aramis would have roundly defended himself, but Athos curled his fingers under his jaw and did it for him. "Is that why the living room is in such a state?"

"Fighting words," Aramis said quietly, earning a reprimanding tap on his cheek from Athos' thumb for instigating. Instead, he settled down to watch them bicker, and hoped it would end up somewhere else entirely.

"You 'ave got some fuckin' nerve, Athos." Porthos' fingers snaked around to the back of Athos' neck, as they always did, but whipped back when Athos hissed in pain. "Shit, sorry."

The mood was lost and Aramis slumped, causing Porthos to snort quietly as he slowly applied the soothing lotion to Athos' back. "What's so funny?"

Athos had his eyes squeezed shut when Porthos finished up and replied, "You, tryin' shit when Athos is out of action."

Athos bristled, calling after Porthos' retreating form, "I am not out of action."

Porthos ignored him, so Aramis shifted more fully onto his knees, making Athos look down in surprise – surprise and something else. Aramis slid his fingers up the insides of Athos' legs, furthering them the higher he went, his thumbs pausing right in the middle of his thighs.

"I thought I could apologise properly?" Aramis offered, complete with a nibble of his lip, and laughed quietly when Athos' next breath came a little later. "Is that a yes?"

"It certainly isn't a no," Athos replied in quiet wonder, as he always sounded when they did something unexpected for him – or  _to_  him.

Aramis' smile had Athos coaxing him upwards for a kiss, whispered gratitude passing his lips – as if Athos felt the need to  _thank_ him for what was, in all honesty, as much for Aramis' benefit as it was for Athos'. Aramis slipped back to his knees, dropping kisses across Athos' stomach as his thumbs wrestled with buttons before pulling victoriously on swiftly tightening fabric.

They had been in the garden, so the only thing between Aramis and what he wanted was the slightly open-mouthed look Athos was giving him.

And Porthos stopping dead in the doorway.

"I left the room for thirty seconds!"

Athos tipped his head back with a breathless laugh, but made a pained noise when his back brushed against the sofa. In a flash, Porthos was standing behind him and lifting him back up, his fingers flush against his scalp. "Lean forward."

"Easier said than done," Athos muttered, but smiled when Aramis leaned up for a kiss again, this time teasing him downwards with licks and one sharp suck that had Athos tensing, the skin pressed against Aramis' jumping with heat.

It happened again, but this time Athos yelped, and Aramis froze, wondering what the hell he had done this time.

Porthos' chuckle was dark and delighted as he showed Aramis an ice cube over Athos' shoulder.

"Clever."

"No, it is not clever, it's torture!" Athos cringed away from the intense cold, but eventually he relaxed as his body temperature started to crave the chill over the burn. When he spoke again, it was soft, slightly confused, the blue of his eyes mere slits. "Why are you doing this?"

"We're takin' care of you, Athos," Porthos said softly, grinning when Athos grumbled in embarrassment. " _Chill out._ "

" _Je t'emmerde_ ," Athos snarled, but it lost its viciousness when he was slowly petting Aramis' head.

Aramis waited for a moment before he applied a hot, suckling kiss to Athos' hipbone, another on his navel, and another along one thick vein, until Athos was writhing ever so slightly against his palms.

Aramis looked up when Porthos cleared his throat with a wicked grin, and responded with one of his own when Porthos popped an ice cube into his mouth.

This time, when Aramis kissed that vein, Athos' ragged cry was anything but pained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today my neighbours are chopping down a forest (again, I can only assume from the persistent racket over the fence), and the ones across the road have installed one of those "mosquito" things, the high-pitched noises that are meant to annoy teenagers? Yeah, it's not just teenagers.
> 
> Your comments are like the breeze to my sunshine, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	25. In A Hidden Place, With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 25 - _“I dare you to dive in.” “Pfft, hardly a dare, it’s hotter than hell here!” “Naked.” “...Still not a dare.”_
> 
> Once again, prompt credit goes to Scrabble! <3 Apologies, sweet, Fleanon took over.
> 
>  **TAGS** Fleanon, city-slicker!Flea and country-girl!Ninon, well, Ninon who took trips to the countryside as a kid, also casual DotA quotes.

For once, it was Flea who was stumbling as they trudged through the grass, the blades engulfing their feet and some even reaching up past their waists.

"Fuckin' countryside, full of fuckin' holes an' shit."

Ninon smiled at Flea's muttering and simply held her hand out, smile widening when Flea took it without any preamble.

It was one of the things Ninon loved about her, that attitude of couldn't-care-less, of knowing who she was and damn happy with it. Ninon had seen first-hand how Athos and Porthos bickered when one tried to help the other – pride was a tough thing to overcome, and yet Flea, for all of her pride, didn't hesitate in asking for help if she needed it.

Didn't hesitate in holding Ninon's hand wherever they were – or sometimes stealing a kiss because she liked watching Ninon flush.

"It'll be worth it," Ninon promised, and murmured warnings as her feet remembered the path down the steep hill, her free hand reaching out to brush against the bushes.

Flea eyed her dubiously when she stopped to pick some berries. "Can you eat those?"

"They're raspberries, they're fine, I used to eat them all the time." Ninon popped one in her mouth and hummed happily, rolling her eyes fondly when Flea shook her head. Instead, Flea darted close and licked her lip, snickering when Ninon pushed a raspberry between their mouths.

"Fine, I'll eat your weird path-berries," Flea groused, and raised an eyebrow when Ninon did. "What? S'not like you can eat stuff you find on the street."

Ninon frowned then, disappointed that their childhoods were so different, that Flea had missed out on so much, and continued leading Flea further into the wilderness, intent to share a part of her own with her.

The day was sun-dappled and glorious, the faint trickling of water growing louder as they approached, until their toes kissed the riverbank and Ninon let out a contented sigh. "It hasn't changed."

It hadn't, much, except most of the little dams she had made as a child had disappeared, and whilst some of the trees had become overgrown, so too had the pools she had once swam in.

Flea's mouth had dropped slightly, her thumb brushing absent-mindedly over Ninon's. "S'beautiful."

Ninon smiled happily and leaned her head on Flea's shoulder, basking in the sunshine and the memories. "I know."

They stood in silence for a bit, Flea lifting Ninon's hand to kiss her fingers, Ninon nosing at Flea's neck, before Flea asked, "You 'ave any of those berries left?"

"You mean my  _weird path-berries?_ " Ninon teased, and popped one in her mouth. "I'm not sure you deserve any."

Flea snorted, pulling Ninon around so that they stood front-to-front, her hands settling at Ninon's waist and playing with the smooth fabric of her sundress. "You gonna let me starve?"

Ninon ate another berry, deliberately curling her tongue around the soft, pink fruit. "Maybe."

Flea groaned deliberately loudly, making Ninon laugh. "Such a tease, kitten."

Ninon's delighted smile pressed against Flea's, her lips sticky as she murmured, "If you ask  _very_ nicely."

Flea gave a put upon sigh, but lifted a hand to push a stray golden hair behind Ninon's ear, her palm lingering on Ninon's cheek. "Please, pretty sunbeam, gimme one of your berries."

Ninon preened a little, but still said slyly, "Only one?"

"I'm plannin' on eatin' somethin' sweeter, later." Flea gave a truly outrageous wink and Ninon pulled away to blush, pushing gently on Flea's arm.

"Hush!"

"There anyone around?"

Ninon managed to stop smiling like a love-struck fool and glance around the wooded river. "I doubt it, we're quite out-of-the-way."

Flea stuck her thumbs in the belt-loops of her shorts, her grin audacious. "Wanna swim?"

The flush came hurtling back. "What? Here? But—"

"You said there weren't anyone around," Flea interrupted with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. "C'mon, I'll strip first."

"That's hardly new," Ninon muttered dryly, but couldn't help from smiling when Flea winked as she tore off her tank-top and shimmied out of her underwear, until she was resting her hands on the jut of her hips without a care in the world.

Except for the slow drag of her gaze that started at Ninon's feet. "Now, s'not that I don't enjoy gettin' you outta those cute dresses, but this is kind of a dare."

Ninon bit her lip to give her unimpressed look some credibility. "I dare you to jump in then."

Flea shrugged, becoming a pale streak that curled into a ball at the last moment, and the water splashed Ninon from head-to-toe, her shriek drawing Flea to the surface worriedly.

It immediately melted into a grin.

"Might as well get naked now, eh?"

Ninon stamped her foot – which just so happened to be one of those things that Flea loved to see – and screamed, "You're just… Frisky!"

Flea's laugh was a self-satisfied one as she tread water. " _Frisky?_ S'that the same thing as wantin' you in 'ere with me, all golden an' beautiful?"

Ninon gave a very good attempt of tossing her hair haughtily, but her mouth kicked up at the corners and they both knew it.

"Fine," she shouted with her hands thrown into the air, and was very aware of those china-blue eyes on her skin as she slipped out of her clothes. The little thrill that had been humming under her skin died at the height of the jump, and she couldn't quite hide her nervousness when she asked, "Is it cold?"

Flea's hungry humour disappeared instantly. "Only a bit, I swear." When Ninon hesitated just a second longer, Flea held out her hand, her voice infinitely fond. "C'mon, darlin', I'll catch you."

Ninon jumped, and the first thing she did when Flea's hand found Ninon's and Ninon's lips found Flea's, was whisper, "I know."

For a while she was transported to her childhood, and yet her little river was much more fun as an adult, if you could call their wet, giggling kisses that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you can't tell, this place actually exists! I spent most of my summers there as a kid, building waterfalls, jumping into the pools, and getting pink fingers from raspberries.
> 
> Your comments are like the bubbles to my brook, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	26. Ptolemy's Treatise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 26 - _Just exploring each other’s bodies, smutty or not._
> 
> Prompt credit to ScoutLover (have you realised what it is yet?) and dedicated to DaniFogg who requested some smutty OT3. Happy birthday, my dear! <3
> 
>  **TAGS:** OT3, this switched all over the place, they were fidgety today, bit of swearing and smut, totally consensual as always, they may push their luck but they know the safewords.

Athos awoke to the feeling of something tickling his leg.

He jerked instinctively, and his whole body tightened when the tickling turned into fingers clamping around his calf, stopping him from kicking upwards.

"S'just me."

Athos looked over the bundles of blankets at the sound of Porthos' sleep-roughened voice to see that he had pushed the covers back to trail his fingers over Athos' skin, his eyes still squinting.

"What are you doing?" Athos asked uncomfortably, scowling down the bed when Porthos refused to let him go, when Porthos knew he was pushing his luck – especially this early in the morning.

"D'you know you have freckles 'ere?" Blunt fingertips pushed at seemingly random spots on Athos' leg, making him scowl further.

"I'm  _aware_ of some flaws, that doesn't mean you can harass me when I'm sleeping," Athos muttered, falling back against the pillow only for Aramis to immediately curl up on his chest.

Porthos made his touch purposefully light, until it had Athos twitching, and when he tried to snatch his leg away, Porthos held him tight. "What you gonna do 'bout it?"

"I have  _just_ woken up," Athos snarled at that low challenge, and when he saw Porthos' grin – one that was suddenly a lot more awake – nudged Aramis' head with his chin. "Play with Aramis instead."

"Hm?"

"I wanna play with  _you_."

Athos muttered obscenities under his breath, which made Aramis open his eyes dozily. "Why are you taunting Athos, and is it going to be fun?"

Porthos' chuckle was a dark, disturbing thing, one that made Athos realise quite how vulnerable he was in this bed with Aramis weighing him down.

"Oh yeah, lots of fun."

"Goody," Aramis murmured, pressing a kiss to Athos' collarbone and then hooking a leg over his hip – another shining example of how damn quickly they could wake up when they felt like it.

"I want to sleep," Athos insisted, and refused to dignify Aramis' raised eyebrow with a response, especially when a slender hand trailed down his stomach and came to some evidence that might have suggested otherwise.

"Flip 'im," Porthos ordered, and before Athos could blink, Aramis pushed at his ribs and Porthos twisted his legs, until Athos had a faceful of pillow and some very smug laughter in his ears. "Nice one."

"I pride myself on my dexterity," Aramis announced airily, and laughed delightedly when Athos' vicious swear words were muffled by feathers.

When he tried to lift himself up, Aramis leaned on his back, warm thumbs pushing at his shoulder muscles until he had to fight back a wobble. It was all sweet touches and harmless fun now, but they would all too quickly realise they could do entirely as they wished when he was pinned like this. "What do you want?"

"Behave an' you'll find out."

"Or don't," Aramis offered, and his pretty sigh said that Porthos had given him a warning look – and Athos would have far rather taken Aramis' offer, at least it would mean he had some say in this.

Because he had a looming sense that this was going to strip him bare in all the wrong ways.

"You behave too, I wanna see if I can find s'more."

"Some more  _what,_ " Athos asked irritably.

"Freckles," Porthos said simply, and clasped both of Athos' calves in a way they both knew would piss him off. "An' they ain't flaws, you dipshit."

Athos' automatic response was to struggle, to twist and fight and hopefully do to one of them what they were doing to him, but they had a distinct advantage over him and they didn't yet know what it was.

In essential captivity, Athos lowered to his elbows and tried not to make it more fun for them.

If he wasn't careful, they would make this a weekly thing.

It was bad enough that Porthos had realised Athos rather liked their scraps to determine who would go where.

Realised that Athos rather liked losing sometimes.

"Fine," Athos sighed forcefully, "do what you will, just make it quick."

"Where's the fun in that?" Aramis asked quietly, and Athos heard their grins over his back.

Athos tensed pre-emptively, and flinched when the first few fingers brushed his calf. Porthos' were slightly coarse and insistent, turning his leg this way and that, pressing on the spots Athos assumed were marked.

Aramis' touch was softer, more teasing, skims across his shoulders, hovering in little patches that made out designs on his skin. Where Porthos had callouses that scratched pleasantly, Aramis was like silk, smoothed by creams and aided by a smile that meant he never had to do anything he didn't want to.

They were tentative, exploratory, brief pressures before moving on, sometimes slides that presumably linked one mark to the next, as if they painted invisible pictures and he was their canvas.

It was surprisingly soothing, but Athos knew it wouldn't last.

Athos knew when Aramis clicked into the same mindset as Porthos, because now both hands spanned his back in gentle, graceful movements, and his voice was wondering, "You are a night sky,  _mon cher_."

"Right? Like constellations."

Athos was still itchy enough at being caught so easily that he could still roll his eyes. "One of light pollution, perhaps."

"No," Aramis murmured, his thighs pushing against Athos' ribs as he leaned over him – noticeably naked to Athos' attention – as he pointed something out. "It's like you're a contrast picture, dark stars on a white sky."

"Ink splatters," Porthos commented, and Aramis' hum of agreement had him adding, "S'beautiful."

Finally, Athos lost his anger, and embarrassment took its place, a flush that burned his cheeks and probably spread across elsewhere on his body too.

Which was presumably why Porthos' palm cupped his arse cheek and made Athos stiffen in alarm.

"I'm not kiddin', Athos, your skin's gorgeous."

"Then stop handling me like a horse," Athos replied, scandalised at being spread out in front of them for their viewing pleasure, especially when it had taken on a heated edge and he had absolutely no control.

He should have struggled at the beginning.

Porthos' hand stroked possessively over Athos' thigh, pulling his legs apart and squeezing when Athos snarled. "You're fuckin' haughty like one."

Athos prepared to escape, but Aramis started placing kisses up Athos' spine, tiny suckling ones that had Athos fighting not to arch at the shivers that spanned the base.

With Athos up on his elbows and his head tilted forwards, Aramis could go all the way to the back of his neck.

Which was where he bit him.

Athos' breath left in a shocked moan, and he felt Aramis' smile, felt it in the hot breath and renewed grip on his neck, teeth that tightened ever so slightly until Athos keened.

A whispered  _fuck_ left Porthos' mouth, and Athos felt Aramis shrug lightly as he kissed the marks. "I've always wanted to do that."

"Why'd you wait so long?" Porthos asked in husky surprise.

Aramis' kisses turned gentle, grateful, and Athos felt some of the tension leech away with every one of them. "How often do we get Athos to pore over like this?"

"Not often enough." Porthos punctuated each word with his hand slipping further up the inside of Athos' very bare thigh.

Athos' tone was as sharp as a knife but infinitely idle. "I will have absolutely no compunction in severely injuring you if you continue that—"

Athos choked the words off when Porthos slid his entire hand under Athos' body to grip his cock and ask lowly, "What'd you say?"

Frozen in place with a warring mixture of alarm and arousal, Athos' mouth opened but no sound came out.

Aramis' head popped into view, his smile luxuriously easy as he leaned on one arm and kissed Athos' cheek. "He's speechless."

"Makes a fuckin' change," Porthos muttered, and even Aramis' eyes widened when Athos' mouth clicked shut and his frown settled into place.

"Athos is being very obliging," Aramis assured, his kisses pleading with Athos to stay still, to let them touch uninterrupted for a little while longer. If it had just been Aramis, Athos might have subjected to every awful moment for him.

Porthos eased his fingers back in a long, slow drag only to place his thumbs at the tops of Athos' thighs in preparation to bare him utterly. "Athos'll do what I want 'im to."

Aramis leaned back with a sigh that said,  _go on then._

Athos whirled, relishing the half second of surprise on Porthos' face before tackling him to the bed and twisting his arm up his back. "I'm sorry,  _what_ did you say?"

Porthos' bitter  _ah fuck_ had Athos sliding his own hand down Porthos' back to squeeze one of his arse cheeks, but the resigned laugh had Athos smirking at Aramis, who tilted his head to the side and said despairingly, "One day I'm going to tie you both up."

Porthos looked up with a worried expression that matched Athos'.

"Flip 'im?"

"After you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this turned out smutty rather than sensual, but I now have a whole headcanon of where Athos' "flaws" are, and what constellations Porthos picks out against his skin. I was tempted to put it in another fic (where sea and stars are all the eye can see and Athos trembles under the tentative touches) but I think it needs its own meta at this rate - my own treatise, but on Athos. Thoughts?
> 
> Your comments are like the freckles to my skin, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	27. The Tongues of Men Are Full of Deceits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 27 - _"I’m the understudy for your character’s love interest and since he’s not here today you asked me to help you run the kissing scene and I’m really attracted to you."_
> 
> I laughed so wickedly when I read this prompt, because I immediately knew what play I wanted (says something about me that I jumped straight to the theatre and Shakespeare), what scene it would be, and who would play who.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Athamis, I completely rearranged this to fit my idea, but I think you'll forgive me, I've also had to cut out parts of the script to get to the good bits, but I encourage you all to read it/see it/watch it if you can.

Aramis was pacing, one hand thrust through his hair and the other clutching his script. He knew his lines but he still panicked himself silly before every show, still showed up early so he could rehearse.

Normally he was the only one here, but he had faintly heard movement in the next room, so he wasn't surprised when someone popped their head in.

Until he realised it was Athos and his heart did flips.

Athos, all piercing-eyes and scruffy-haired Athos, who orated Shakespeare like a master and held himself like the very king he was acting as. Athos was king of characterisation, king of kings, because anyone who could come in of a morning with a glare that could burn through steel beams and then stammer like a fool in love come curtain up was an actor beyond all compare.

It didn't help that Aramis was in love with him – with Athos,  _and_ King Henry V.

"Oh, hello, Aramis, do you know if Ninon's around? I need to go over a part of my script."

Aramis knew he was a fool for perking up, for feeling his world lighten just because he had seen Athos, could hear him – and that was even before he realised he could actually help him. "There's nobody else here."

Athos blinked at him and then let out a small, disbelieving laugh. "That makes my request a little awkward – it's the fifth act, scene two."

Aramis knew which one it was immediately, it was his favourite scene, it was the one where Henry tries to flirt with Katharine, it was the one Aramis sighed over with every rehearsal.

It was the one where Athos had to kiss Ninon.

"Awkward because I'm male?" Aramis asked dejectedly, but Athos raised an eyebrow.

"No, because you play the Dauphin, it's rather a conflict of interest," Athos said with a small shrug. "Shakespeare was acted by males for years, after all. So, will you help me?"

Aramis fiddled with his script, hoping his flush wasn't as bright as it felt. "Of course."

Athos inclined his head in encouragement to follow him, and Aramis swiped his hands on his trousers, hoping they weren't sticky, or his hair wasn't ruffled, or make a complete fool out of himself.

Athos was the star, and Aramis was just a minor character, after all.

"Should I do the accent?" Aramis asked dubiously, and tried not to narrow his eyes and smile when he saw amusement flash over Athos' face.

"No, I think our French is good enough that if I hear you referring to your elbow as  _de bilbow_ I will laugh tonight."

Aramis glared good-naturedly, pleasantly surprised that Athos thought his French good enough to pass for a native. A quick skim of the scene – as if he didn't always mouth along to the words – and he gave Athos the nod.

"Fair, Katharine, and  _most_ fair," Athos began, and Aramis spared half a moment to wistfully wish it was him that this was being addressed to.

They easily settled into the fun of the scene, Athos playing the persistent suitor, Aramis looking away and back again under his eyelashes, pushing Athos' hand off of his arm when he wanted it to stay there.

Aramis was doing pretty well until the kiss.

"Upon that I kiss your hand, and I call you my queen," Athos declared, but Aramis could see the humour sparkling in his eyes as he waited for Aramis to play his part.

And deny exactly what he wanted.

Aramis gave a scandalised gasp. " _Laissez, Monseigneur, laissez, laissez!"_

"Then I will kiss your lips, Kate."

" _Les dames et demoiselles pour etre baisees devant leur noces, il n'est pas la coutume de France_."

"Madam, my interpreter, what says she," Athos said to the side, where Alice should have been, and Aramis bit his lip and didn't laugh as he replied in the worst attempt at an English accent he could manage.

"I cannot tell vat is  _baiser_ en Anglish!"

Athos' grin was intoxicatingly wide as he tried to look very serious and say, "To kiss."

"Your majesty entendre better que moi," Aramis demurred, completely enchanted by Athos' smile, by the rarity and genuine delight in it.

"O Kate, nice customs curtsy to great kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be confined within the weak list of a country's fashion: we are the makers of manners, Kate ; and the liberty that follows our places stops the mouth of all find-faults; as I will do yours, for upholding the nice fashion of your country in denying me a kiss: therefore, patiently and yielding."

Aramis' smile had faded as he was caught up in Athos' dialogue, in hearing that gorgeous voice talking to him,  _to him,_ looking straight into his eyes and asking for a kiss, it was like a dream.

Aramis had been pining after Athos since rehearsals had started, but between their rigorous schedules and Aramis being stupidly in love with him, he was always too terrified to say anything.

This Athos was not the same Athos that everyone else saw, this was Athos enjoying himself, laughing, like he did with Ninon.

And now it was with him, and Aramis felt almost lightheaded, so much so that he didn't realise he was staring, and Athos' smile was a small, confident thing.

"Are you denying me my kiss, Aramis?"

Aramis stammered, bringing his script up between them in embarrassment, because he  _wanted_ to, but he wanted it to be real, not a read-through, not a—

Did Athos just break character?

Athos took his hand as he had a minute ago, but this wasn't part of the scene, this wasn't acting, this was Athos' smile but Henry's words. "We are the makers of manners, Aramis, and I have been patient and yielding."

Aramis' heart was in his throat, a tightness there as he wondered if this was a trick, and so he answered as Athos had. " _Les langues des hommes sont pleines de tromperies._ "

Athos pulled him gently and Aramis stumbled forwards, Athos' other fingers curling under Aramis' chin, "No deceit, Aramis, i' faith, you wouldst think me a plain king."

"You are anything but plain," Aramis remarked defensively, but looked away when he realised he had spoken aloud.

Athos' smile widened and he lifted Aramis' head to look him in the eyes and say, "What say you, my flower-de-luce?"

Aramis wanted to scowl at Athos' deliberately bad translation, but at the same time, he wanted to smile, to laugh, to kiss him.

So he did.

There was a moment where Athos blinked in surprise, and then his eyes closed and his kiss was a soft but demanding thing, firmness when he wanted to suck at Aramis' lip and softness when Aramis wanted to explore.

"You have witchcraft in your lips, Aramis," Athos quoted quietly, his hand slipping to dip his fingers in Aramis' curls.

Aramis stiffened then, his voice small. "Are we still acting?"

"No." Athos continued to kiss him, before pausing and asking, "Is that alright?"

Aramis dropped the script and nodded, pushing forward into Athos' smile to loop his arms around Athos' neck so he could lick at the lips that said such beautiful things, lips that smiled when nobody else was looking.

Lips that smiled for Aramis.

"Did you really need to rehearse that scene?"

A calculating gleam entered those blue eyes. "I couldn't get the kiss right."

Aramis bit at Athos' lip with a laugh, did it again when Athos' arm slipped around his waist, and didn't care if he sounded overbearing when he asked hopefully, "Will you think of me when you have to kiss Ninon tonight?"

"I give my oath," Athos murmured, and Aramis felt a thrill of happiness at the thought of them, at their likeness to Henry and Katharine. Athos tilted his head ever so slightly. "In fact, I may have done so before."

Aramis reeled back, torn between delight and anger. "And you never told me?!"

Athos smiled as he eased Aramis back against him, their mouths meeting briefly before Athos said, "You never met my eye."

Slightly scandalised but wholly delighted, Aramis murmured slyly, "The English King and the French Dauphin, who would have thought it?"

Their laughter was lost in the rustle of kisses and scripts as people began to arrive.

When the curtain rose and they took their places, Aramis took great delight in detailing just how foolish the English King was – with, perhaps, a bit more mockery and vehemence than usual.

It earned him a bruising kiss in the shadows as they passed, and Aramis had trouble fighting his smile for the rest of the evening.

"Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me; and may our oaths well kept and prosperous be!" Athos announced to the audience, and turned ever so briefly to Aramis, the barest twitch of his lip for Aramis alone.

" _Exeunt_ , straight into my arms," Aramis murmured, and smiled against Athos' mouth when the curtains dropped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will fangirl over Shakespeare quotes and the Musketeers 'til the end of my days, I swear. I actually have an Athamis prompt involving that iconic Henry V speech and a shower, but it didn't fit in any prompts this month so... (ALSO, please imagine Scene II but Porthos as Harry, trying to learn French to charm Athos or Aramis, OH MY LIFE.)
> 
> Your comments are like the Tchaikovsky to my Hamlet, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	28. Schooled With A Strap Right Across My Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 28 - _“I thought you were my new roommate’s boyfriend so I casually invited you in but you’re actually the RA of the dorm and now you think I want to have sex with you."_
> 
> What is an RA. I tell you, you know you're getting old when first-year Uni prompts feel alien, oy.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Combinations of OT3, Porthos wanting to eat his cake and have it too, but hey who doesn't, creative licence with dorm areas an' shit, points available for title.

"There, I'm done."

At Aramis' relieved sigh, Porthos looked at their shared space as if a bomb had exploded in it.

It had, and it was called Aramis.

Porthos' few things were already neatly stowed away, but then Aramis had appeared in a haze of bright smiles and moving men – men which Aramis seemed to know by name – and Porthos' sparse world had become a lot more colourful.

He found he didn't mind so much when Aramis looked at the mess and bit his lip.

"Should I tidy more?"

Porthos lowered his  _Rolling Stones_ and shrugged, secretly adoring how  _homey_ Aramis had made it. "Nah, s'fine – though you're pushin' it for illegal stuff."

Aramis eyed his copious strings of fairy lights, mini fridge, and assortment of gadgets. "Is it too much?"

As Aramis said it, a cluster of little stars lit up around Porthos' bed, and he couldn't hide his grin.

He  _was_  trying very hard to hide how much he fancied Aramis, though.

"S'jus' enough – keep an' eye out for the RA, mind," Porthos warned, fondly flicking a star.

Aramis' smile turned sly. "Oh,  _I will_ , he's gorgeous."

Porthos' humour fell, but he forced it upwards, forced his tone into joking. "Oh yeah? Scopin' out the eye-candy already, eh?"

Aramis touched up his hair in the mirror and murmured, "As if you haven't."

Porthos tried not to sound disappointed. "I 'ad my eye on somethin' but I think 'e's interested in someone else."

"Is that so?" Aramis turned around to prop his hands on his slender hips and give Porthos a sultry look. "Me too."

Porthos very nearly glanced around the room before asking, "Who's the lucky guy?"

"I can't name any names yet, I'm not sure if he's into me," Aramis teased, and just when Porthos started to smile hopefully, Aramis grabbed his jacket. "Right, be back in twenty, I'm off to butter up the RA some more."

"Some  _more?_ " Porthos muttered irritably, but Aramis bounded over to kiss his cheek – and, yeah, the constant cuddles might have given Porthos the wrong impression – and promptly disappeared, leaving Porthos to his magazine and multi-coloured lights.

Did Aramis like him or was he keeping the field open? It wasn't a bad idea this early in the game, but Porthos was still miffed that Aramis was already friends with the RA.

Maybe even someone else if Aramis  _hadn't_  meant him.

Porthos glared at the door when somebody knocked, only opening it a crack and coming face-to-face with someone who eyed him up and down and then frowned slightly. "Is Aramis there?"

Porthos slumped – this must have been who Aramis was talking about, because this guy  _was_ gorgeous – but deciding that being friends with Aramis was better than nothing at all, Porthos opened the door. "Nah, but he'll be back in a bit, come in if you want."

That frown returned again, but it was confused rather than irritated this time, and Porthos wondered whether this guy hadn't made any friends yet – no better time to start. "S'fine, I'm Porthos, d'you want a drink?"

"Athos," he murmured, and then asked strangely, "You have alcohol?"

Porthos snorted as he headed to the fridge. "Yeah, who cares 'bout rules right?"

Finally, a smile crossed Athos' face, and Porthos couldn't quite look away from it, because it was small and intensely private and Porthos wanted to see it again, wanted to know what it meant, what it tasted like.

Ah, fuck.

He really wasn't supposed to find his roommate cute, let alone his roommate's crush – he was already making a hash of this year and it hadn't even started.

"I assume these aren't yours," Athos murmured when he saw the fluffy pillows strewn over both beds – when the fuck had Aramis put those out?

Porthos huffed a quiet laugh as he snapped the top off a beer. "An' if they are?"

Athos' smile lifted at one edge as he accepted the bottle. "I admire your aesthetic."

Porthos' laugh was louder this time, eliciting a wider smile from Athos, and Athos perched on Aramis' bed as Porthos lounged on his.

It was really fucking wrong that he was thinking about both of them now, wasn't it? It was, it really was, but seeing Athos' straight back amongst those fucking pillows was making Porthos' fingers slip on the glass.

Athos started the conversation, classes, professors, whether the  _Magic Mike_  poster on the wall belonged to him or Aramis –  _cheeky sod_ – and Porthos countered with the announcement that he did a good strip-tease.

The breathless little laugh Athos gave as he looked away had Porthos grinning.

They both looked up in surprise when the door slammed open.

"Porthos, hide my fairy lights, the RA is coming—!" Aramis raced into the room, and when the colour drained from his face, it flooded back bright red when Athos raised an eyebrow. "Athos."

Yeah, it was definitely Athos – as if there had been any doubt, Athos was cute as fuck.

Sighing inwardly, Porthos wiggled his beer at Aramis. "Drink?"

Aramis goggled at him and then at Athos. "Are you allowed to do that?"

Athos cleared his throat with a secretive smile. "As Porthos said _, who cares about rules,_ right?"

Porthos froze.

Oh, shit.

"You're the RA, ain't you?"

Athos idly sipped from his beer as if he wasn't in what was practically the whorehouse of the dorm-world. "The cruelty of staying in housing when doing a Masters." Athos tilted his head to the side in thought, his smile curving around his bottle. "Still, there are perks."

There was a single moment where Aramis met Porthos' eyes and they both smiled.

"Athos likes your pillows," Porthos announced, and grinned at Athos' glower when Aramis winked.

"Porthos offered to do a strip-tease," Athos countered, and smirked when Aramis immediately plonked himself down next to Athos and started chanting,  _off, off, off._

Porthos finished his beer and heaved a sigh that was belied by his chuckle. "Can't deny an adorin' crowd, now, can I?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm such a tease, I know. These are going to be late until the end now, because the DotA 2 International is on and my life is devoted to those live streams. ( _Secret, Secret, Secret!_ )
> 
> Your comments are like the fairies to my lights, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	29. Dry Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 29 - _“You fainted in my arms because of the heat. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”_
> 
> So, when it comes to these challenges, I make a little graph and a few tables so that I know how many pairings I've done/are in what/who's in whose PoV (no, I'm not obsessed with order, why do you ask?) but I had to deviate from my list today. In honour of ScoutLover's birthday, I give you some Porthathos - because it's _such_ a chore to write.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Porthathos, a bit of Athamis, this was painfully fun to write, Athos is giving me some serious cold shoulder now, still, happy birthday, my dear!

Porthos adored the sunshine, the hotter and more stifling the better. The heat didn't bother him, he enjoyed it, he liked switching to brighter shirts and rolling his sleeves up, and he especially loved the way London brightened like a drab penny dropped in some ketchup.

He was sporting sunglasses as he strolled back from lunch – all the better for admiring the scenery – and stopped for a bottle of water at a little café in the park.

It didn't hurt that the guy in front of him was enjoying the weather as much as he was, Aviators perched on a cute nose that wrinkled when Porthos offered to buy his drink.

"My boyfriend will be here in a minute," he murmured, but bit his lip when he looked Porthos up and down – always nice to get compliments.

"I 'ave a goldfish," Porthos announced, and when it earned him a confused look, added, "Oh, sorry, thought we were talkin' 'bout things that didn't matter."

A delicate snort was his reward, along with a mused, "I'm Aramis, perhaps I'll introduce you to him."

Porthos pretended to think about it, watching those eyes glimmer. "Porthos. What if I don't like to share?"

Aramis nudged his sunglasses upwards, pushing those sun-lightened curls away from his bright smile. "He's worth it."

It was Porthos' turn to laugh. "I was talking 'bout sharin'  _you_."

"I know," Aramis said confidently, and it swiftly turned sly, "but his bite is only slightly better than his bark."

"That so?" Porthos remarked with quiet interest as Aramis' phone went off.

"Shame, I suppose we'll never know if you like to be bitten," Aramis said distractedly, and settled his sunglasses on his cute nose again. "I have to go, until next time."

Porthos blinked in surprise as Aramis turned away. "What if there isn't one?"

Porthos barely heard Aramis call over his shoulder, "Fate is mysterious!"

Porthos frowned in disappointment, already wanting to see that bright smile again – a part of him wondering if Aramis had known he liked to be bitten.

Whether Aramis' boyfriend liked to be bitten, too.

Resigning himself to some moping, Porthos ordered a chocolate muffin – for the grief – and sat down on a bench next to the café.

The sun slowly erased his bad mood, the warmth giving him hope that he and Aramis would meet again at some point. Until then, Porthos relaxed, smiling at the sense of companionship the good weather gave people, strangers chatting and dogs playing.

It wasn't a surprise that his attention was drawn to the one person who looked as if he hated absolutely everything.

Dressed in a suit jacket over long sleeves and a tie at his neck, he looked positively boiling.

And his attractive scowl was one Porthos wanted to soothe.

As luck would have it, he stopped near the café, grumpy gaze roaming over everyone and lingering only on Porthos because he was staring.

"Lookin' for somethin'?"

Those sharp eyes turned startled and then looked away as if Porthos didn't exist.

Porthos wasn't deterred, he still had time for some mischief.

"If it's a good time, I'm sat right 'ere."

It was Porthos' grin that attracted those startled eyes again, eyes that looked him up and down much like Aramis' had – but this one didn't bite his lip, unfortunately, because Porthos was pretty interested to see what it would look like.

At first, Porthos thought it was embarrassment that was causing that pretty flush creep over those pale cheeks, but then he wobbled.

"You alright, mate?" Porthos was on his feet in a flash, hand reaching for an arm still in its suit-sleeves. "You're overheatin'."

A dazed glare was aimed somewhere in his direction, along with a muttered, "I'm fine."

"Nah, you ain't— Shit." There was suddenly a dead weight in Porthos' arms – a surprising amount of muscle hidden under that fancy fabric. Porthos almost stumbled, catching them both at the last moment before lowering onto the thankfully shady bench.

Porthos winced when he patted a red-hot cheek, but held some hope for the brief fluttering of eyelids. "Hey, s'okay, what's your name?"

Porthos had to put his ear right by those softly panting lips to hear the faint, "Athos."

"Right, okay, Athos, I'm Porthos, gonna need you to drink this water for me."

Athos mumbled his name, and Porthos managed to feed a few sips into Athos' mouth before he turned his head and refused to take anymore, until Porthos was growling and Athos was snarling weakly.

"I will put you over my fuckin' knee, Athos, drink the water."

Athos feebly batted at him, so Porthos splashed him in the face.

A stream of angry French assaulted Porthos' eardrums before it merged into some pissed off English. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Jus' savin' your life, you're welcome," Porthos said, giving a sigh of relief – and one of surprise at that mesmerising meld of languages. Once Athos blinked the water away and returned to a more normal colour, one that was apparently naturally pretty and pale, Porthos added jokingly, "Y'know, I already thought you were cute, you didn't need to faint into my arms."

Athos scowled, fingers pushing on his temples. "What?"

Porthos gestured to the sprawled length of him – to the warm legs that were still pushed against his own. "You're wearin' way too much for this weather."

Athos straightened self-consciously, retreating into his own space as if Porthos had burned him. "What business is it of yours what I wear?"

"Does that mean s'my business what you  _don't_ wear?"

The thoroughly unimpressed look it earned Porthos was glorious. "I hope you aren't in the fire service with lines like that."

"Yeah, I save all my lines for damsels in distress – oh, hey, don't murder me with your mind," Porthos laughed, holding up his hands to break Athos' deadly eye contact. "No, not a fireman – been known to wear the uniform, though."

The murder turned to bemused, those swiftly sharpening eyes looking him over again, and this time there was definitely an interested question whispering in their blue depths.

A faint flush crept up over Athos' cheeks again and Porthos readied himself to throw more water at him if he fainted – seriously, he was just going to strip Athos if this kept up.

Athos didn't look at him as he asked haltingly, "Did I hear correctly, you say you would put me over your knee?"

Porthos huffed a laugh as he settled back onto the bench. "Yeah, you were bein' a right stubborn bastard."

Athos' jaw tightened, that flush deepening slightly. "Whilst I offer an apology for that, I also expect one."

"Why? I'm not sorry for suggestin' it."

At Porthos' unashamed grin, Athos' gaze darted to him, and already loving that angry –  _scandalised_  – look, Porthos sighed. "Alright, I'm very sorry for sayin' that I wanted to put you over my knee, all wrigglin' an' flushed, my 'and poised over your arse—"

"That's enough!" Athos hissed, but it wasn't with venom, unfortunately it wasn't with vivacity, either, but his reply was vigorous. "The only one who needs it is  _you._ "

Porthos ran his tongue over the edges of his teeth, greatly enjoying this sudden change in direction. "You offerin'?"

Athos stared at him overlong before looking away, the slightest hint of a smile as he muttered, "You are insufferable."

"Better make me feel it then," Porthos teased, and laughed lowly when Athos shook his head in amused disbelief.

"Wouldn't you rather a reward for helping me?" Athos' eyes narrowed when Porthos lifted an eyebrow. "Not like  _that,_ guttersnipe," Athos said, trying not to laugh.

Porthos grinned at what he was going to call a pet name, and he pushed his knee against Athos' thigh when he shifted his weight. "What'd you 'ave in mind?"

Athos glanced at where they touched. "Dinner?"

"Date?" Porthos asked hopefully, and frowned when Athos laughed awkwardly.

"I'm not sure Aramis would approve."

Porthos' jaw dropped. "Aramis, as in, curls-an'-cute-nose Aramis?"

"You know him?"

"He was 'ere earlier, talked 'bout introducin' me to 'is boyfriend when I bought 'im a drink."

"We were supposed to meet for lunch but I left my phone at the office," Athos replied distractedly before colouring again. "What did he say about me?"

"That your bite's better'n your bark – I'm startin' to see why."

Athos gave him a good-natured glare and a quiet, "In that case, I change my mind."

Porthos grinned happily. "About the date?"

Athos slid him a lidded look. "No, about putting you over my knee for buying my boyfriend a drink." There was a smirk playing about Athos' lips, but Porthos had a feeling it wasn't an idle threat. "Yes, the date, shall we say here at seven?"

Porthos coughed to hide his delighted laugh, his own heated skin having nothing to do with the sun. "Sure, but don't tell Aramis I'm comin', alright?"

"If you wish. Why?"

Porthos chuckled as he wrote his phone number down, "Fate's mysterious."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This title hit me twice, first with an instant response of a Brummie "mate" (shudder, do you remember those dark times?), but it was supposed to be Sunday Girl, "cold as ice cream but still as sweet."
> 
> Your comments are like the age to my references, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	30. I Speak For The Trees!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 30 - _Paranormal idea 3._
> 
> Unless someone like you cares an awful lot, things aren't going to get better. They're not.
> 
>  **TAG:** OT3, something a bit different today, a bit spoopy, a stream of consciousness after a dream I had, spirits and souls and elemental homes, also sneaky DotA reference, holla holla.

Porthos was a lonely child.

He had always been lonely, bereft of connections he wanted but didn't understand, always feeling as if something was missing.

In the orphanage they told him it was because he needed a family, a home, a place to call his own, but they never seemed to find him one that lasted. Porthos passed through foster families quicker than the leaves could turn – one day they were green, the next they were red, dying, dead.

If he lasted any time at all, it always ended with an expulsion, a rejection, because he kept getting into fights defending the little ones – it was something Porthos had always felt, a protection for things that needed it, but it wasn't ever appreciated, and so they kicked him out.

He had always felt out of place, out of touch, as if he didn't belong, but so did so many kids. The others had their reasons though, they had backgrounds, problematic upbringings, scare stories; Porthos had nothing, just the odd looks from carers, the overheard tale of his birth, a baby left abandoned in the woods for a walker to find.

They never told him where, but he thought he knew.

The woods down the road sprawled for miles of bracken and trees. It was Porthos' favourite place, the trees would whisper to him, talk to him, and they never shooed him away, they kept him safe.

Because the trees were lonely too.

At 10, Porthos wrote a letter to the council because they wanted to develop part of the area, uproot his trees, destroy the woods. His wobbly handwriting made the paper, the project didn't go ahead, and Porthos walked every foot of his woods and swore he felt the trees' gratitude, heard it in the susurration, felt it in the ground beneath his threadbare boots.

He went through four foster homes that year alone, but never too far from his trees, never so far that he couldn't visit, couldn't sneak out and spend the night there, the simple contentment worth the punishment.

The year the children's home took a trip to France was a painful one. They had put him on the coach last minute, kicked out of his latest foster home for fighting.

For once, it hadn't been in defence of a child, but the trees.

They had moved him too far, he had missed them, and without him, he was cranky, quiet,  _lonely._

Porthos watched them as they drove past to the ferry, a great sense of loss and disconnection opening like a chasm in his stomach, as if it was wrong for him to be so far from his trees, from his woods, from his home.

France had trees, too. Enormous ones, ones that blocked out the sky, and their voices were different, their whispers accented. They weren't his trees, but they were welcoming when he broke from the campsite and went exploring, a lonely soul in a dark forest.

He didn't understand what they said to him, they weren't  _his_  trees, he hadn't grown with them, he didn't know why the wind picked up at odd moments, why it softened at others, testing, teasing. It was nice, fun – and he had so little of that these days – but they weren't  _his_  trees, and he needed  _his_  trees, they needed him.

So he had to go back.

He would walk if he had to, and he did, steady footsteps with legs already too long for the rest of him, never comfortable in a body that didn't feel like his own, as if he had slipped into the wrong skin, too soft, too strange.

Porthos doesn't know about the dangers of wandering alone, the strangers, the busy road ahead, the electric fences;  _his_ forest is safe, this one isn't.

He's two feet from a fence when a light catches his eye, a bobbing ball of flame that twirls in the moonlight, dancing in a gentle breeze, flickering in a playful one.

Porthos steps away from the fence, from the road, and follows the lights, they lead him on a safe path through the darkness, finding him when he gets lost, soft, encouraging light filling the clearing when he starts to panic.

The path has stopped, but Porthos still watches the lone sphere, and blinks when it looks like a figure weaved of light, a boy his own age, but slender and bright, his laugh mesmerising, and Porthos wonders if it was as lonely as he was.

The boy smiles at him, and Porthos smiles too, feels it in his chest for the first time he can remember, but when Porthos steps forward, the wind picks up and dies, hurtling past him to coalesce at the fire's back. Older, warier eyes peer at him, pale arms curving around tan skin.

It's protective, Porthos realises, like he protects the trees.

The trees he had left, abandoned, and it's crowded here, too many things already roam these woods, civilisation encroaches faster, it's not safe, not safe for Porthos, and not safe for the boy with a smile of sunshine nor the one with eyes of tornadoes.

Porthos makes it safely back to the campsite, tired, exhausted, but happy, hopeful, because he has a jar that warms his hands and sometimes it rattles as if a storm were caught inside, but it settles when he talks to it, talks to them, and says that everything will be okay, the trees will make sure of it.

Porthos will make sure of it.

His trees seem darker when he returns, but they lighten when he walks their roots again, they whisper when a curious breeze tickles their branches, and they sigh when sunshine plays over their leaves.

It was his forest, but it's theirs now, and home is dashing 'tween trunks to catch a burst of flame with wind at your heels, home is the soil between his toes and the trees' laughter, because the leaves don't die, they fall and begin again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a whole AU for the boys and their elements (and one for a Pullman 'His Dark Materials' one, too, daemons galore). I have a question, though, dearest readers, when you go to someone's AO3 page and see, say, 30 stories, is that a good sign or is it overwhelming? 
> 
> Your comments are like the will to my wisps, so please leave one! You can find us on Tumblr at [ComeHitherAshes](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) and SirLancelotTheBrave. The tags used are ([#2k15 July Writing Challenge](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/2k15-July-Writing-Challenge)) and ([#A Musketeers' Shine](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/tagged/A-Musketeers%27-Shine)).


	31. A Case of Mistaken Identity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 31 - _Fake relationship._
> 
> The most hallowed of prompts. It was supposed to be a LOT more painful, but it didn't seem right for the final one, so it might show up on my Tumblr at some point by request.
> 
>  **TAGS:** Always OT3 for the last, how has it come to an end so soon? It seems like only yesterday Lancelot and I had an idea to do a month of seasons and now it's been nearly a year!

"Bullshit you do."

Porthos leaned more heavily on his forearm, the other one gesturing with his beer. "Sure I do, jus' 'cause I ain't told you 'bout 'im don't mean s'not true."

Flea narrowed her eyes over her bottle, and it was one of many, because Athos was away for a few weeks and Aramis had cancelled last minute, so they had a lot of drink to get through. "I'll bet you a fiver you ain't, an' I'll bet you a tenner it ain't someone we know."

"Fine," Porthos announced confidently, and then immediately ran outside to call Aramis. "Mate, you gotta 'elp me out, I made a deal with Flea that I'm seein' someone."

"You aren't," Aramis murmured, and Porthos was fairly certain he could hear soft little feminine sighs in the background before Aramis' tone changed to a wary one. "Are you?"

"No—"

"Porthos," Aramis interrupted as those cries started getting needier, "as one of your best friends, I'm insulted I didn't know about this."

"Can you seriously be jealous when I know that ain't porn, 'cause it sounds a lot like your boss' wife."

There was a guilty pause at the other end of the line before a tremulous whimper sounded and Aramis cried defensively, "She needed me, Porthos!"

Porthos rolled his eyes. "Yeah, an' now  _I_  need you."

Aramis' tone slipped into sultry. "Why, I never thought you'd ask."

Porthos spluttered a denial and simply chose to hang up the phone when Aramis started to laugh wickedly. Porthos glared at it, glared at Aramis' text message of  _anything for you, mon cher_ , because Aramis was a fucking tease and had no idea how much Porthos fancied him.

Well, okay, he probably knew after their occasional hook ups, but he didn't know that it went far beyond their quick screws and hungry kisses, that it was the long cuddles Porthos pined for, it was waking up with Aramis in his arms, sleepy mumbles of endearment before one or both of them awkwardly said goodbye.

Sometimes Aramis lingered, sometimes he didn't, sometimes Porthos almost asked him to stay, sometimes he smacked his head on the closed door and wished he had said something.

Athos had called him an idiot for the last few months, and he probably was, because it wasn't just Aramis' name that crossed his lips of an evening, and wasn't just Porthos' that crossed Aramis' after a particularly drawn out,  _denial-filled_ evening before finally given permission to finish.

Yeah, Porthos was fucked, it went way beyond the physical at this rate.

Still, the look on Flea's face was worth it when Aramis showed up to drape over Porthos' arm, to brush kisses against his jaw and push his fingers between his shirt buttons.

Porthos probably enjoyed it too much.

The touching, not Flea's face – although that was fun too.

She left in a huff after they started calling each other pet names, Porthos getting more sickeningly sweet to make Aramis wrinkle his nose in distaste, and Aramis in languages that Porthos couldn't understand – but  _knew_ the meaning, knew when Aramis mouthed them against his skin and he felt like burning up.

It wasn't surprising they won't home together that night – after Porthos had managed to get a promise out of Aramis that he hadn't done anything untoward with his boss' wife.

" _Aside from—"_

" _That's enough, thanks."_

" _It won't happen again, mon cher, I swear."_

Porthos had heard it before, but it had been joking, teasing, because Porthos would have had plans for a drink or a movie night and Aramis would cancel on him, and laughingly say, "I couldn't bear to be alone with you for that long."

D'Artagnan had asked Athos if Aramis really disliked Porthos that much, Athos had said their problem was rather the opposite – whatever that meant.

Athos definitely knew more than he let on, he had both their ears after all, and he constantly threatened to tell Porthos about his crush on Aramis, Porthos couldn't guess what dirt Athos had on Aramis.

The only thing keeping Athos from being blackmailed to within an inch of his life is because Porthos liked him so fucking much.

Which, actually, really didn't help when Porthos was talking about falling in love with someone's eyes, with the way they held themselves, and said person thought he was talking about someone else entirely.

Constance was the next person to demand proof of their arrangement-called-relationship, and even she'd had enough after Aramis crawled into Porthos' lap at a local café and started licking cream around Porthos' lips, tasting his tongue when it flicked out, and keening softly when Porthos bit.

Porthos, on the other hand, was overwhelmed, overwhelmed with Aramis, with want, with need, with… something he couldn't say when he knew this was supposed to be a game.

A game, a game where Porthos savoured every nickname and every kiss and every single breath because Aramis was  _his._ It might not be real to anyone other than him, but it felt real, felt realer when Aramis stopped leaving in the mornings.

In fact, it felt so real that Porthos had to stop himself from kissing Aramis every minute of every day, had to stop himself from holding his hand when no one was around, had to stop himself from murmuring those three little words against Aramis' forehead.

There were times when Porthos caught himself pushing Aramis' hair back, and he was caught by soft brown eyes that seemed to stare through him body and soul, and Porthos would cough an embarrassed laugh, only to have a painfully gentle kiss pressed against his lips before Aramis did a cough of his own and ran off.

It was probably just Aramis being friendly.

It took until the second week for Porthos to wonder why they kept doing things when no one was around, why they had their own toothbrushes at each other's house, why there was this undeniable  _guilt_ clawing a hole through his stomach.

They were in bed together, it was another morning after – the good ones, the ones where Aramis stayed and Porthos could hold him close and they both laughed awkwardly when they caught each other's eye.

Porthos couldn't do this anymore, he couldn't do it to Aramis, he couldn't be like this when it was all supposed to be a joke, some game, when it  _wasn't,_ it never was.

Porthos looked down at Aramis – in his bed, in his  _arms_  – and gently pushed those gorgeous curls back, trying to tell himself— trying to tell Aramis—

"I love you."

It was a murmur against Porthos' palm, and suddenly Aramis pushed himself out of bed with a hand smacked over his mouth.

Porthos could only stare at those outrageously wide eyes above a complete lack of clothing.

"What'd you say?"

Aramis squeaked through his fingers. "Nothing!"

Aramis was shaking, full body tremors as he glanced at the door and back again, as if thinking about his escape plan, escape from  _Porthos._

"Aramis," Porthos breathed, sitting up to drag his nails over his scalp, a stupid smile growing at his lips. "Aramis, darlin', sweetheart, babycakes, puddin' pie," Porthos laughed disbelievingly, louder when Aramis' eyes narrowed. "I love you too."

Aramis' hand fell but only to stare warily at him. "This is the bet, still, right? You don't really?"

Porthos almost hesitated, suddenly terrified that Aramis was still playing too, but how could he be when those beautiful eyes were so very wide? Porthos shook his head, heart pounding. "No, I love you, I fuckin' love you, I 'ave for ages."

Aramis nearly laughed, a nervous, quiet thing, seeming shy now as his hands brushed up the opposite arms. "Really?"

"Yes, really – I mean, if you're really, too?" Porthos backtracked, eyebrow lifted anxiously.

Aramis' smile grew impossibly bright, and Porthos matched it. "Yes, I am really."

"Really really?"

Aramis flew onto the bed to say the rest against Porthos' mouth. "Yes, really really, you big idiot –  _my_ big idiot."

"Less of the idiot, minx," Porthos muttered, and aside from leaving a nice pink handprint on Aramis' arse cheek, there wasn't much else to do – aside from the obvious, over and over again.

Everyone already thought they were together, there wasn't much of a fanfare to be had until they met up with Ninon that night, who looked around for Athos before remembering he wasn't there. "Does Athos know?"

Every single drop of good humour disappeared, and Aramis even shifted slightly out of Porthos' loose grip, the two of them barely meeting each other's eye.

They excused themselves early, Porthos in angry silence and Aramis in an anxious one, and they swapped the entire way home, until it was Aramis who just outright demanded, "Do you love him too?"

Porthos paused his pacing to ask carefully, "Are you askin' if I love 'im  _an'_ you, or are you sayin' that  _you_ love 'im too."

Aramis' frown grew more and more incredulous before he irritably exclaimed, "Both."

There were a few seconds of sharp breaths before Porthos sighed in relief, "Oh, good, yeah, me too."

Aramis' smile felt like water to a parched man after not seeing it for so long, and their kiss was gleeful and giddy – until Aramis murmured, "Shotgun not telling him."

"Fuck."

Porthos had to wonder how he got himself into these situations, not least of all because Athos was finally home and only his detestation of technology had kept him in the dark about what had happened, what was  _happening_ , because Porthos had pushed him into a chair before turning away and sighing.

"This is very dramatic," Athos remarked, but Porthos was too busy trying to decide between just kissing him or spelling it out – because this was Athos, he needed formal letters and a neon sign.

"Athos," Porthos began haltingly, "if you were tryin' to tell someone you loved 'em, what'd you do?"

Athos didn't answer save for a strangled noise, and Porthos started to panic, turning around only to see Athos on his phone. "There, I asked Aramis out for you. Happy?"

Porthos was fairly certain he gaped like a fish until his phone buzzed with a text from Aramis. " _Why the hell is Athos asking me out for you?"_

_"he thinks I meant u"_

_"YOU HAVEN'T TOLD HIM?!"_

_"omg I'm tryin to!"_

Porthos shoved his phone in his pocket and said exhaustedly, "Athos, mate, that's not who I meant."

Athos blinked twice, frown growing. "If you're trying to tell me—" Porthos held his breath, "—that you have some sort of secret crush on d'Artagnan, I don't know how to tell you that he's straight."

Porthos' palm met his forehead. "Fuckin' 'ell, Athos, you are so dense."

Athos scoffed, "Rude."

"I'm talkin' about you!"

"What about me?"

Porthos still had his hand over his eyes, but at that, he gestured wildly with it. "That I fuckin' love you!"

Athos' eyes widened and Porthos could have just shoved his fist in his own mouth and died right there and then. "Bollocks, it— it wasn't supposed to— ah, for fuck's sake, Athos."

Athos – as only Athos could – replied simply, "I fail to see how this is my fault."

"S'your fault 'cause you ruined my plan!" Porthos growled, gesturing at the room. "You were s'posed to let me tell you, all quiet an' sweet like, an' then I'd ask you out for dinner an' Aramis would be there – 'cause this ain't a single package deal, Athos, this is the both of us, for life. We love you, we always 'ave."

Athos stared at him for what felt like eternity before the very edge of his mouth lifted teasingly. "You were going to ask me for  _dinner?_ "

"Oh, my fuckin' life, Athos, get over 'ere."

Athos walked over with teeth beginning to show in his smile, and he rested one finger under Porthos' chin before murmuring, "It might surprise you to know that I love you both, too."

Porthos hugged him so hard that he squeaked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this calls an end to our seasonal prompt challenges, I hope you enjoyed them (and continue to do so with rereads and comments). Time isn't so easy to come by these days and we invest a lot of ourselves in these prompts. We will, of course, be publishing here and there, but if there's any interest in AUs and one-shots then let us know, we're thinking of doing a weekly ficlet on a Friday on our[Tumblrs](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com) \- 118 prompts and still more to write, oy.
> 
> I hope you all have a wonderful summer, _mes chers_!


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